


To bushwhacked and back again.

by DropsOfAddiction



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Chair Sex, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale Has a Big Dick, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski UST, Desk Sex, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Hairy Derek Hale, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Jealous Derek Hale, Licking, Love Confessions, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Protective Derek, Rimming, Romantic Derek Hale, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Jeep's Name is Roscoe, Stiles Stilinski's Scent, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek, Wolf Derek Hale, stiles and derek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAddiction/pseuds/DropsOfAddiction
Summary: “So... that’s it. You’re all done here?” Stiles had tried to keep his voice neutral as he leant his back onto the wall, placing one foot on it to balance him.“Yeah. I sent all my stuff ahead. I doubt Cora will unpack for me though,” Derek told him.“No, I doubt it. She’s probably too busy running naked through the woods,” Stiles shuddered.“Oh my god, do you have to?” Derek had grimaced. “That’s my sister.”“Sorry! I’m not thinking about her naked I swear,” Stiles protested, holding his hands up.Derek had cocked an eyebrow at him.“I’m not lying! Feel!” Stiles yanked on Derek’s arm until his hand popped out of his pocket and he’d dragged him closer, placing Derek’s palm over his heart.Derek had made a soft sound of surprise, but he’d allowed the manhandling and he crowded in closer to Stiles.Stiles hadn’t thought it through because the second Derek’s hips were inches from his and Derek’s stupid, lovely face was all up in his, his heart had begun pounding erratically.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 141
Kudos: 1438
Collections: Kelly's Picks, Sterek the good stuff





	To bushwhacked and back again.

**Author's Note:**

> Well slap me in the face and call me Judy, where did this even come from?
> 
> I’ve taken a million and six liberties as usual with all procedures, areas, languages, places, you name it, I’ve borrowed it or made it up. Out the door with you, don’t hound me heathens. 
> 
> Please don’t post this anywhere but here. Just borrowing the teen wolf characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I love, love, love that you’re still here with me... ❤️

Stiles Stilinski is very tired. Well, tired would actually be the understatement of the century in this case. 

He conjures up more fitting potential hyperbole that better suit his current situation in his head and he recites more dramatic descriptions of his current fatigued state. You know, just to help him pass the time and all that jazz; brain exercises help him stay awake and so he runs over the words, like an albeit weird but altogether calming mantra.

_Weary. Spent. Debilitated. Drained. Fried. Bushwhacked. Ha. Bushwhacked._

He stretches his achy legs out with a grimace, flexing them as best he can in the small cramped space between his seat and the one in front of him. He thinks of his mom, god rest her soul, the source of his long limbed genetics. 

He certainly didn't inherit any height from his father, or Gimli son of Gloin, as the Sheriff is nicknamed around the Station back home. 

Stiles’ stomach knots as he thinks fondly of his dad. 

It’s been far too long since he’s been back to Beacon Hills. Nearly six months this time; he’d last returned to celebrate his twenty ninth birthday. It had been a quiet affair, just a dinner with his dad, Mel and Chris, Scott, Malia and their twins, Ali and Eva. It had been perfectly uneventful, just the way he likes his family gatherings.

This year is probably the longest he’s ever had to be away, work has been a little more demanding than usual. God, Stiles misses them all, but he misses his dad the most. Misses the old guy’s stumpy legs and his knobby knees and just everything about him. 

Stiles should be heading back to him right now, it’s his annual leave. But he’s not going there. Oh no, he is definitely not headed there at all.

 _After this weekend. After this, I’ll go back._ Stiles shakes his head. 

He needs to stay focused. It’s just three days, he reminds himself. It’s Friday night already and by Monday morning, if everything goes to plan, he will be on his merry way back to Beacon Hills.

He sits up and he clicks on the dim overhead reading light and he gets his laptop out of the pouch fixed to the back of the seat in front of him. He flips down the little tray table and it clicks into place.

“Ah you’re awake Sir. Can I get you a coffee?” An air hostess talks quietly as she approaches him, so as not to disturb the other passengers in first class.

Stiles bangs his knee loudly on the little tray table, earning him an annoyed grunt from the man sitting in front of him. First class his ass. Stiles could be on his own private plane and there still wouldn’t be enough leg room for him. 

“That would be so good, thank you,” Stiles nods gratefully as the air hostess, Mandy, Stiles notes her name tag, hurries off. She’s back within seconds.

“Here you are. Two sugars for you, just like you took it earlier, right there on the side there for you,” Mandy grins at him as she places the cup and saucer down on a napkin. Stiles smiles sleepily back.

Objectively, Mandy is quite gorgeous. She has thick, blond hair all twisted up into a complicated looking plait, bun thing that even Lydia would be envious of, her lips are painted a dark inviting red and her nails are long and manicured to match. She has light blue eyes, Stiles observes, and a bright white smile that looks like it’s been stolen straight from a dental practice advertisement.

Stiles glances surreptitiously up at her eyebrows, trying not to be too obvious about it. 

Meh. They’re ok. Nothing spectacular. He always notices the eyebrows.

Stiles twitches his nose. She’s definitely beautiful. Just not quite... right. He never did like the really smiley ones. 

“Did you need anything else right now?” Mandy lingers and she rests a hand on his shoulder. She bats her abnormally long eyelashes at him. 

They look like little spider legs to Stiles and he fights the urge to laugh at that. Stiles feels the heat of her hand burning through his white shirt.

“Anything at all Sir?” Mandy repeats, practically purring.

“Er, yes. How long do we have until we land please?” Stiles queries and he shifts his body away a little so that Mandy’s hand slips off his shoulder.

He glances down at his watch and he frowns to see that it’s stopped. He gives it a little tap and when that doesn’t get it going again he slips it off his wrist and into his bag next to him for safekeeping. The watch is an absolute cheap piece of crap but Scott had bought it for him as a present when Stiles had finally graduated from Quantico. Stiles can’t bear to part with it, no matter how many new batteries or straps he has to buy for the damned thing over the years.

He had nodded off for a couple of hours earlier on the flight and he’s completely lost track of time and his phone battery is dead. It’s all very unlike him. 

But he is bushwhacked after all, he reminds himself. He needs to cut himself some slack.

He’s never minded flying, but this flight feels positively endless. Probably because of where he’s headed, rather than the actual distance, he thinks. Or maybe it’s a combination of both.

“We will touch down in Santa Genoveva in just under an hour,” Mandy nods, still smiling her smiley smile.

“Ok. Thank you very much Mandy,” Stiles turns back to his laptop screen and he presses some buttons, pleased when it begins to come to life.

He checks he’s got it in flight mode as it loads up, then he checks it again, even though he knows it is. 

He’s a little on edge, plus add in the exhaustion and it’s all making him a little more habitual than usual.

He flexes his fingers, eager to work.

He has some more files to go through before they land and he needs some privacy to do so, hence the first class seating arrangement. Thankfully he’s been able to expense it to work. 

He’s got a decent enough reputation within the bureau he could probably _buy_ a plane and his boss would be ok with it.

No one sitting next to him is just perfect. He glances back up at Mandy. She’s lingering.

He quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Brazil is always an overnight stop for us. We will have a layover, we always do on the long hauls,” Mandy offers.

“Ok.” Stiles replies warily, sensing where this is going and hoping he’s wrong.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get a drink with me? I noticed you only have a carry on bag with you, and you know, you’re in a suit. I figured you’re probably here for business, not pleasure. I was thinking maybe I could make up for the pleasure part?” Mandy smiles toothily and it’s suddenly a bit menacing.

“Oh.” Stiles winces, blinking owlishly up at her. 

So he’s not wrong. He’s rarely incorrect about these things, as much as he might wish he was. It’s his job to notice behaviour and he’s good at it, if he does say so himself.

Mandy had been flirting with him a little since he got on the plane but he didn’t think she was going to just shoot her shot quite so blatantly, not while she was still on shift anyway.

Her face falls at his sour expression. 

“Are you... are you married? Because I didn’t see a ring, I checked,” Mandy shrugs unapologetically.

Christ, Stiles is thinking about giving her a job, she’s an observant one.

“I’m flattered Mandy. Really. But I’m not just flying here for work. I’m here to see a friend. A good friend. I’m on a bit of a tight schedule,” Stiles offers kindly.

“Ah. _That_ kind of friend huh? No problem, just thought I’d ask. I hope I didn’t offend you,” Mandy’s face dips but then she plasters her smile back on. As she turns to leave him in peace she fires back over her shoulder with a wink. “Typical though. All the good ones are always taken anyway.”

“Or gay,” Stiles mutters quietly at her retreating form, voice low enough that she doesn’t turn around.

Stiles turns back to his laptop and he pulls up a saved file. A long lens surveillance photo of Derek Hale’s face appears, filling up his laptop screen.

Stiles’ eyes widen, though he’s seen the picture a hundred times already and he presses his thumbs into his temples, biting on his lip.

The photo had been taken outside what appears to be a cafe, Derek occupying one of the small round tables, pressed cafetière in the middle. Derek has a bright red cup in his hand.

Derek’s face is aimed at the camera but his eyes are just glancing slightly off to the left, looking at someone out of frame. No eye glare there to ruin a perfect shot. Its unmistakably him. It’s a one in a thousand capture, if Derek had just turned ever so slightly, the picture would have been ruined by the reflection of his eyes.

Stiles just stares at him, tracing the changes in the man and memorising every detail.

It’s been at least six years since Stiles last saw Derek in person. Derek must be around thirty three now, but you’d never tell, save for the minuscule little laugh lines around his eyes that weren’t present the last time that Stiles had seen him.

Derek looks so relaxed in the photo, lighter somehow, small smile playing on his lips. He still wears his dark stubble neatly trimmed and it looks just a touch longer than he used to wear it when Stiles knew him before.

It’s almost as black as Derek’s hair, which is also a little longer than Stiles remembers it being. 

Stiles absentmindedly traces the outline of Derek’s sharp jaw with his finger, as if he can touch him through the screen.

Derek’s wearing a forest green t-shirt and Stiles can see from his relaxed slouch in the chair, he’s built the same as he always was, shoulders firm and strong.

He looks devastatingly good. But better still, Derek looks _happy._ It’s the only thing Stiles ever wanted for the guy really.

Stiles puts his palms to his eye sockets and he presses hard, trying to fully wake himself up. 

He opens up a second file and the notes he started making earlier, the notes that got him rushing to make this plane, fill up the screen.

His eyes flick over what he’s written so far and he adds a few more lines, some more things he will need to do after he’s been to Brazil and he’s back in Beacon Hills.

Reading his notes through again makes his heart thump faster and his mouth go dry with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.

Words like Alpha werewolf, IT support, supernatural profiling, securing a premises and team, all jump off the screen to assault him and his stomach lurches in perfect time with a precarious wobble of the plane. 

The turbulence is getting decidedly worse the closer they are getting to their destination. The ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign clicks on as the plane gives another alarming jolt and Stiles clips himself in.

He goes through what he knows.

The facts are that Derek Hale is finally happy and Stiles hasn’t seen him for six whole years. And now, Stiles needs something from him. 

Stiles is not very sure of his welcome.

———————

See, the most peculiar thing for Stiles about all this is just _how_ he’s ended up on this little escapade to Brazil. He’s not going to see Derek because he’d decided to just drop in on the guy for a few beers and a reunion or anything, no, he’s going there on his _bosses_ orders.

It’s nothing short of a miracle he’s in possession of this photo and file of Derek, the universe looking kindly upon him to have placed him in a situation where this would fall into his hands. 

For him to even be in a place to do something with it and for the bureau to not be using it to rain down some ungodly shitfuckery on Derek is insanely fortunate. It seems that even Derek’s bad luck doesn’t stretch that far apparently. Nope, instead he just gets landed with Stiles.

But that’s the thing about Stiles and Derek. Somehow, no matter how far either one of them go, something always drags them back in. Towards each other. It took a bit of time this go round mind you. Six years is a very long time, Stiles had been almost worried.

Stiles had headed off into the FBI head quarters on the sunny Friday morning proceeding his flight and it was just a normal day up to that point, nothing spectacular or stand out about it. He’d been in a very good mood.

He’d flown back into Washington the night before that, back from a trip to Massachusetts, where he’d closed on a case he’d been working for nearly eight months. He’d been officially working solo because no one else had seen the case in the unique way he’d seen it, so no other agents had been willing to pick it up with him. Which suited him just fine, truth be told. He’d insisted to his boss he could handle it alone and he had. Well mostly alone. It was a huge relief to him that it was over. 

The ‘serial killer’ in that particular instance had turned out to be a really old and decrepit spider monster thing that will give Stiles nightmares for years to come, probably until his death bed if he’s honest. 

He’d nicknamed the thing Spidergran due to its hideous, grey furry legs. 

It had taken him so long to hunt Spidergran down because he hadn’t known that’s what she was at first, he hadn’t even been sure she wasn’t just a regular human killer. The reason why she had been so evasive as he’d tracked the bodies she’d left stacked up across state lines had become apparent at the penultimate crime scene to him catching her; that was where he’d discovered a minuscule part of a web under a table in the latest victim’s apartment. 

The web could have just been put down to bad housekeeping to the untrained eye, but the way it shone silver in the moonlight from the dusty kitchen window had caught Stiles’ gaze and on a gut feeling he’d bagged it and sent a sample over to Chris Argent to check it out for him.

The killer had been so careful up to that point but one of the first lessons they teach you when you’re training to be an agent is that everyone eventually makes a mistake, even if it’s minuscule. 

Your job as an Agent is that you just have to be looking hard enough when that happens. Same thing goes for humans as goes for monsters, Stiles has learnt. They all slip up sometime. He’s seen enough of humans and monsters in his lifetime that he’s beginning to wonder if they’re the same thing.

Chris had come back with a home run on his hunch. Jorogumo. Just Stiles’ luck to come across an ancient, shape shifting spider demon that turns into a human looking woman to hunt her prey down. She’d been eating various parts of her victim’s flesh to keep her young, but Stiles being on her tail (not literally, spiders don’t have tails obviously) had meant she’d been skipping the odd meal, hence the Spidergran nickname and her Nanna like appearance.

Stiles had killed her good and proper, just as she was about to chew the head off a sobbing teenager with some very urine soaked jeans, poor kid. Stiles had tasted the fear in the room the second he’d kicked the door down, gun in one hand, giant katana in the other. 

He’d managed it with a little help from Lydia and with a lot of help from the demon killing sword known as Dojigiri. The former wasn’t impressed the Jorogumo had recently shacked up in her city without her knowledge _at all_ and Argent had helped him temporarily misappropriate the sword from from the archival rooms at Tokyo’s national museum. Putting it back had been harder than getting it out, but Stiles had left that part up to Chris. The man owes him a few favours anyway.

Killing Spidergran hadn’t been pleasant. There had been a lot of hacking involved. 

Lydia had helped him get rid of the mess in the house the thing had shacked up in and made her nest (Stiles never wants to see another spider web again thank you very much) and they’d been hit with a stroke of luck when Spidergran had turned back into human form when she died, body bizarrely intact, just in time for Cambridge city PD to come flying onto the scene.

They’d found over thirty different hallux bones in a trunk in the basement of the house. Spidergran kept their big toes as trophy’s, or maybe they were her snacks for the road, who knows. Vom. Stiles had spent more time retching than he will ever admit and then some when he’d opened that trunk. 

Anyway. Win for Stiles. Spidergran can’t kill anyone else. And they were able to give some closure to the victim’s families. Identification a la toe was a new one on him.

So, as Stiles had headed into work the Friday morning, handed off the katana disguised in a wrapping paper tube to Chris Argent in Starbucks and he’d grabbed a coffee on his way into his office, he’d been feeling pretty damned good about things.

He was due some annual leave soon and now that the Jorogumo was dead and unable to hurt anyone else he might finally be able to relax and get back to Beacon Hills to see his pops. 

Just as he’d got in a settled in for the day his boss had knocked his office door, rudely interrupting his coffee and happy thoughts.

“Stilinski,” his boss had entered, greeting him in her soft southern accent and not waiting for his response. She had given him a wicked smile.

“Deputy director,” Stiles offered her his chair with a flourish. “Please don’t take this the wrong way but it’s a big fat no from me... Just... Whatever the hell it is, no... I know that look. That’s the same exact look that you gave me when you sent me to Cairo and what happened there? You know, you _know_ what happened in Cairo. I still limp when it’s cold. I know not to trust that look.”

“Stop being so dramatic Stilinski. And I don’t want your damned chair, you sit down,” the Deputy director flopped down unceremoniously on her back on his small brown leather couch. 

Stiles adoringly refers to the couch as Bedford the second anytime he curls up there, too tired to go back to his shitty little nearby apartment. 

“I heard you’ve had an eventful few days,” She kicked off her high shoes and they hit the floor with a thump.

Stiles froze. Deputy Director Valerie Miller usually cuts an imposing figure, a plain speaking, tall, black woman. She’s no shorter than five foot nine, but she’s never seen without her high shoes and immaculate suits.

She never wears a stitch of make up, content and confident in herself. 

She’s been the Deputy director as long as Stiles has been an agent and he’s learnt to know how to read her signs when she wants something. He’d been sure this little meeting was about some new strange case she had in mind for him. 

But seeing her all relaxed and making herself at home in his office was weirding him out. He just couldn’t get a read on her.

“Ma’am?” Stiles took his seat at his desk and he frowned at her.

“Open your top drawer,” she said, without even opening her eyes. “And I’ve told you to call me Val. Or Miller will do. Ma’am makes me sound like the Queen.”

He did as he was told and there was a little neon green flash drive sitting inside.

“Plug it in,” the Deputy director instructed. “It’s ok, it’s encrypted. The password is your real name. I don’t think even the bots could unscramble that one. I tried to get back in once I’d locked it and I couldn’t even remember it twice.”

Stiles inserted the flash drive into his laptop. It’s not a company computer, but one he’d built himself. He’s got the tightest security possible on there, no one, not even the FBI’s top analysts could get into Stiles’ laptop. He may have had a little help from Danny making it that way, but at least he knows it’s secure.

“Load the files and then destroy the drive please. Immediately,” she said.

Stiles did as she asked, super curious now.

This level of subterfuge on the Deputy director’s part means that she wants him to do something, or she has something for him that she doesn’t want top brass knowing about. 

Colour him intrigued.

“Can I open the files up here?” Stiles cleared the flash drive after he loaded the content and then he tugged it out. He dropped it into his half full coffee cup for good measure.

Valerie Miller sat up.

“Go ahead. I had your office swept for any bugs before you came in, then I did it again myself for good measure. It’s definitely secure in here,” She shrugged, face giving little away. “It seems upstairs isn’t at all as interested in what we’ve been up to on this floor as I suspected they were.”

Stiles knows that the fact his office is clean probably has more to do with him warding it with every protection spell known to Deaton rather than lack of interest from ‘upstairs’. You literally can’t even get a foot over his door frame unless you have good intent toward Stiles.

Stiles knows it works too, he’d once watched safely and amusedly from behind his office blinds as Timmy from down the hall had kept angrily trying to confront Stiles about using up the last of his milk from the communal fridge. 

His office wards just kept turning the poor guy around in a one eighty spin every time he got near, until Timmy was beet red and he’d stormed off looking really confused.

That was a good day. Stiles did buy him a gallon of milk to make up for it later.

He’d been ripped rudely from his memory because he clicked the first folder that came off the flash drive and Derek Hale’s life history sprang up on screen. His _real_ life history, not just the one where the FBI went after him for being a homicide suspect.

Stiles felt a surge of adrenaline so strong it almost paralysed him, fear freezing in his veins like he hasn’t felt since back when the Nogitsune took him over. 

Please, not Derek.

The file had details about the Hale fire, dates from everything back to when Derek was born, details about his parents, right up to... right up to where Derek is living right now. 

The line that stood out the most in bold print said Status: Alpha werewolf.

That’s when Stiles had first seen the cafe photo.

He had felt like he’d been ready to kill someone at the protective surge that hit him, his blood simmering dangerously.

“What the hell is this?” He hadn’t even known his voice could sound so low and threatening.

By the way Valerie Miller’s eyebrows had raised, it appears she hadn’t known either.

“It’s a file about Derek Hale. Who is apparently a werewolf,” she had just shrugged.

“I can damn well see that, but why are you showing it to me?” Stiles had clenched his teeth together so hard he had been afraid they’d crack. 

“Who is he to you?” She had tilted her head curiously.

Now that one Stiles could answer.

“No one. Not anymore. I haven’t seen him for years. Not in a very long time,” Stiles offered carefully. 

He needed to get out of there. He needed to warn Derek that the FBI know where and who he is. Who he _really_ is.

“Not since you helped him escape an FBI op intended to capture him when you were a cadet hmm? The same one where you drew fire from our own boys and got yourself shot in the toe, so Derek Hale could sneak away?” Valerie asked him knowingly.

Stiles clamped his mouth shut. He’s in big, big trouble here. 

“Stiles. I know everything. I’ve had suspicions of a supernatural element to the world we live in for a long time and the minute you landed in our laps, you were like a magnifying glass for me. A window into the unknown. My father and mother died when I was very young, they were savaged by a beast. They said it was a bear but I had hunted with my dad a hundred times, seen more bear kills than you could count and none looked like... well... I found their bodies. I was just eleven years old. But I knew. I _knew_. So, firstly, thank you. Because for a long time, a long long time, until I met you, I thought I’d been going crazy,” the Deputy director offered.

“Right.” Stiles said, tone clipped. 

He still wasn’t sure where the conversation was going but he was terrified and horrified that he could have inadvertently led the director to Derek. “So what, the whole of the FBI knows about Werewolves now, is that what you’re telling me? Or you want revenge for your parents, is that it? What are you going to do? Get rid of all of them starting with Derek Hale? Are you going to kill me?”

“What? No, don’t be so darn stupid, no one else knows. Only me. I took that photo of him myself last week. My unofficial visit to Brazil was the final missing piece for me. I’ve made it my personal business to keep track of you and by extension the company you keep over the years and I’ve noticed some very interesting things about the way you operate Stilinski. I’ve documented it all. It’s all there in those files I’ve given you though. No other copies. I must say, the spider monster this week... terrifying. Good job. Besides, we both know your office wouldn’t have let me anywhere near here today if I was coming in with the intention to do away with you,” The Deputy director had rolled her eyes at him.

Stiles gawped at her.

“Oh come on Stiles... You must think I’m as useful as a trap door in a canoe, give me a little credit here. I’d probably be Director by now if I had a dick,” Valerie mused.

“I... I don’t understand.” Stiles deflated. “What exactly do you want from me? What do you want with Derek?”

“Boy, if you got a clue, I think it would die of loneliness. I know. About everything you’ve been doing. And I’m not interested in covering it all up, or wiping out all the good supernaturals. I’ve learnt enough over the years to know that there’s good ones and bad ones right?” the Deputy director asked.

“Absolutely,” Stiles nodded emphatically. “Same as humans.”

“And I’ve seen enough of your work to know that you’re a good one, right?” She pointed at him.

“Yes ma’am. I mean Val...” Stiles felt like he was in the twilight zone.

“So, I figure if you let Derek Hale get away back then, I’m going to go ahead and say we got it wrong with those homicide charges and he’s a good one. I’ve destroyed his normal file. Entirely. It’s like he doesn’t exist, apart from the info you’re holding there,” the Deputy director nodded her head toward his laptop.

“But... but why?” Stiles had a thumping headache just trying to keep up.

“Because Stilinski, I’ve just got funding for a special operations division and I want you to head it. You’ve solved case after case in the time you’ve been an agent, and you’re making a lot of waves down here. People are starting to take notice, the director especially. But all the real work you’re putting in, you’ve had to hide it because of it’s supernatural nature. If I go up to the Director’s floor now and start ranting and raving about demons and ghouls and whatnot, I’ll be thrown outta here quicker than the goose in the goat pen,” She smiled that wicked smile again. “But if we make this a legit operation and we go up there in say a year or so’s time with evidence, cases, proof there’s good and bad, this could be world altering Stilinski. It could be career making for the both of us. I don’t have to report a single thing in for a whole year. That should give you enough time to set up and get the operation on its feet.” 

“I don’t know what to say. I really don’t,” Stiles felt wrung out, it was too much to take in at once and he was on an adrenaline crash from the shock of seeing Derek’s photo.

“You don’t need to say anything Stilinski. It’s already been approved and you’ve been assigned to head it up. I knew you’d say yes,” Valerie Miller stood up and toes her shoes back on.

“Fuck... fuck... ok. Wait, what does Derek Hale have to do with any of this?” Stiles winced dreading the answer.

The Deputy director wasn’t above using Derek for leverage, to get Stiles to do this but Stiles wasn’t sure that’s her style really. She’s usually a lot more direct, as evidenced in that entire conversation.

“Well, if we’re going to create a world where we can use the good guy supernaturals to combat the nastier goblins and ghoulys then you’re going to need a team right? A very _diverse_ team?” Valerie Miller tapped a finger to her temple.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Stiles’ eyes went wide. She can’t possibly mean Derek.

“Let me make this clear... as long as you make this project a success and continue to solve cases at the rate you’ve been going, document everything from now on accurately, a true account reporting into only me for now, I don’t give a rats ass how you do it. Recruit whoever the hell you want. If you don’t want Hale on your team, take me erasing his file as a good will gesture. Or take him on. Whatever. As long as I’ve got one trained agent, that’s you, anyone else can be taken on in a consulting capacity,” the Deputy director told him. 

She wrote down two figures on a post it note and Stiles had choked on his spit when she pointed her pen at the first one.

“That is going to be your departmental budget for the first year. Use it. And this figure underneath, that will be your new salary.”

“I can’t... I can’t even cope with this right now,” Stiles had wheezed, trying to get his breath back as the Deputy director went to open his door. “Are you going to stick us in the basement like your shameful little secret?” 

The director honest to god laughed at that, the first time Stiles thought he’d ever heard her be so open.

The sound was jarring in his small office.

“Stilinski. Stiles. Seriously, have you been watching Xfiles again? I keep telling you it’s not an accurate representation of the FBI,” she’d chuckled.

“MindHunter actually,” Stiles had started to smile.

“Well, now you mention it, having a consultant on the team who is an MIT professor with degrees in both Cognitive science and Bioengineering probably wouldn’t hurt the validity of this project. I understand you may already know a young lady, someone with that exact stature?” the Deputy director nodded at him like he’s a toddler.

Lydia. Of course. Stiles’ leg had begun to jig with excitement.

It could work. It could really, really work.

It had taken them all far too long to suppress Monroe’s rampaging back in the day and with an agency like the FBI behind them, they could go legit. 

Stiles could be a part of developing something that could both protect and govern the supernatural community, create laws against hunters, make the code a legality as well as something they just honour. He could truly stop what happened to Derek’s family happening to anyone else. He could stop what happened in Beacon Hills from happening to anyone else.

Stiles was getting ahead of himself.

“Ok... I’ll do it,” Stiles said nodding. He felt warm all over.

“I thought we’d established that part,” the Deputy director yawned as if he was boring her. “Right. You’ve got three weeks annual leave left? Take it. From now. Make some plans, recruit. I’ll want you to go through everything with me when you’re back. I’ll tell you exactly what I know, you can tell me what I don’t already know and we can go from there. Sound fair?”

“So fair. Val... I can’t thank you enough for this. Derek... well that whole part of my life, it means a lot to me. I’ve done a lot of things to protect it over the years,” Stiles said truthfully.

“I understand Stilinski. For what it’s worth, I trust you. I just hope you can trust me. I’m happy to take your lead in this and be involved only when you need me to,” Valerie Miller nodded at him. “This isn’t just about my job for me, this is about my family. About making a difference, do you understand?”

Stiles’ office glowed happily gold around them with her words, the good feeling flowing between them clearly genuine, her intent pure.

Valerie couldn’t see it, but Stiles did.

He grinned widely at his offices’ endorsement of his boss. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great director Ma’am. Sorry. Val. Better than Lewis. He’s a complete tool. I once saw him pulling a push only door for at least thirty seconds,” Stiles told her. “Plus, his spray tan makes him look like a tangerine.”

“That just might the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me Stilinski,” the Deputy director opened his door just a crack and she sighed when he started speaking again.

“There is one last thing ma’am. I know you said we didn’t have to go set up down in the basement but there’s not exactly a lot of room around here to base out of and to you know... stay under the radar,” Stiles said.

“I told you, I don’t care how you make it work, as long as you make it work. Rent some office space, as long as you’re within budget then it will be fine,” she said.

“Where?” Stiles asked, a tendril of an idea uncurling in his gut, a whisper of a feeling teasing the idea of being closer to his dad on a more permanent basis. Maybe he could even force him into retirement finally, if he was around to spend more time with him.

“Now you’re actually annoying me Stilinski. I’ve got a cream cheese bagel with my name on it waiting for me in my office. Anywhere you like. Set up in Alaska if it tickles your pickle. As long as you come back here to spend a few days with me a month, I. Don’t. Care,” and with a slam of his door, she was gone.

Stiles paced up and down for a few minutes, necked his cold coffee, choked on the ruined flash drive, hacked it back up and then he flopped down on Bedford the second with a harumph.

What should he do first? There was so much going around in his mind. 

Could he really set this up in Beacon Hills? Would that even work? What are they going to call the unit?

Primarily, he needed to think about who he wants by his side in all of this. Lydia is a given, he’s sure she won’t take much convincing to be a consultant. She practically does that for him anyway. 

He could go see Danny, but he lives in Beacon Hills. It would make more sense to circle back there after going further afield. 

No. He needs to start with the person that’s going to be the most difficult to convince, which is ironically the person he probably wants on the project the most. 

The chance to work together with this person, the chance to finally share some space when something isn’t trying to kill them both, to be around each other and be doing something amazing like this. The possibility of... but hey, no, he’s not even going there.

He was thrumming with energy, his skin buzzing.

He had sat up with a jolt and he grabbed his laptop. He knew what he needed to do before anything else. You always start a puzzle with the corner pieces, they’re the most important bits, the key to completion.

He needed to go to Brazil to find Derek Hale. He’d booked a flight.

——————

The minute the cabin crew open up the plane door, Stiles shuffles his way to the front of the aisle and he practically jogs up the attached jetway.

He vaguely hears Mandy call out a sorrow filled goodbye behind him, so he raises his hand in a wave over his shoulder. He doesn’t look back.

He thankfully doesn’t have to wait in luggage collection as he’d just brought his cabin bag with him, so he skips straight through customs and on to the car rental part.

He ignores numerous locals touting for business holding various signs up and offering things ranging from taxi services to bag carrying services, but he nods and politely says no thank you to each one. He makes his way to the car rental company booth, one he always uses when he travels.

Thankfully, he observes, there isn’t much of a queue, just one family at the counter in front of him. He’s not feeling all that patient.

He fans the collar of his shirt to get some air; it’s hotter than hell in the airport and he reminds himself to pee before going to collect his car as he necks a bottle of water.

It will take him around two hours to drive down to the town of Cabecerias, to the last known address he has for Derek. 

He’s nervous, which isn’t helping how warm he’s getting. _Excited_ and nervous.

He’s not entirely sure of his welcome to tell the truth. 

He and Derek hadn’t exactly gone their separate ways on bad terms six years back. Nor good terms either, not really. They’d just parted. No good or bad about it. It just was.

For a year or so, they’d exchanged the odd email, Derek’s aversion to mobile phones sticking with him. They were never super informative on Dereks part, but he’d always ask about Stiles’ dad and Stiles would always ask about Cora politely, both of them avoiding any heavier topics. But after that, they’d just fizzled out. Stiles doesn’t even really remember who sent the last email. He just knows they’d stopped.

He would definitely class Derek as a good friend, or at least he used to be, but exchanging the odd keeping in touch email and showing up on someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night are two very different things.

At least seeing Derek in the photographs that Valerie Miller gave him he’s gotten some time to adjust; seeing Derek all fully grown up now is going to be a challenge. He thinks if Derek had answered the door to him looking like _that_ and he’d been unprepared for all the additional daddy Derek hotness, he might have had a lot of trouble containing his response.

He had never been great at controlling his reactions around Derek and he’d never wanted to be the guy who just hit on him or smelled like he wanted to just bone him. Derek had had enough of that in his life, people taking advantage of him because of the way he looked. 

Stiles had always been so careful to conceal his reactions to Derek, so as not to offend the poor guy. He’s got a feeling he’s going to have to work extra hard this weekend.

The movement of the family leaving the rental desk up ahead brings him out of his head. He approaches the young man behind and desk and begins to order a car in some questionable Portuguese. He can speak six languages flawlessly, but his Portuguese definitely needs some work. The guy looks momentarily pleased at his efforts though. He takes Stiles’ details down, fingers flying across his keyboard.

Stiles is flying under his second passport, so this Friday night folks, he’s Vernon Reyes. He’d gotten to pick his own alias, his small and wholly inadequate tribute to his fallen but certainly not forgotten comrades. In a weird way, he feels like maybe they are looking out for him when he travels under that name.

The guy at the desk hands him a set of keys with a bright orange plastic rental tag attached and directs him toward the exit . He waves his hand motioning toward a large multi-storey garage where the rental cars are all parked.

Stiles finds his floor without too much trouble and then he searches the ground for the space number where his chosen vehicle should be waiting for him.

His face splits into a wide grin when he sees it, parked there in all its glory. It’s a brand new Jeep Wrangler Sahara four door, paintwork gleaming in firecracker red; he never did quite leave his love of jeep’s in his teens. Roscoe, his blue CJ5 is still in Scott’s possession, lovingly looked after back in Beacon Hills.

Stiles throws his bag on the ample backseat and he climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts up the ignition as he strokes over the leather wheel and he turns the air conditioning up on its highest setting. He sits, taking a moment to bask in the cool air and calm his jitters a little. His bladder protests when he puts his seatbelt on. He forgot to pee.

He plugs his phone into the built in dock and the battery symbol flicks up red and empty, so he gives it a moment and waits for it to come to life.

He doesn't bother to programme Derek’s address into the built in Satnav but instead he pulls it up on his phone, clipping it into the waiting holder. More secure that way.

He puts the jeep into drive, embarrasses himself with some enthusiastic over revving as he reverses, but then it’s like riding a bike. He cruises down the many stories of the parking lot and he comes out onto the main road by the side of the airport and he joins the traffic, lights lighting up the roads.

He forces himself to obey the speed limit as he begins to pull out of the city and through where it starts to get a little more rural. He doesn’t want to get stopped.

It simultaneously feels like he’s been driving for a lifetime and also for barely a blink of an eye when his phone announces he should be nearing his destination within ten minutes.

He has to really concentrate then because the roads quickly turn to outback farm land, no streetlights to guide him and more than once he gets turned around. His phone gets decidedly confused and keeps announcing him ‘arrived’ where there is only a field filled with empty space.

He hasn’t even seen a house for twenty minutes by the time he’s tried all the surrounding side roads and he’s starting to get frustrated.

He gets lucky on his fourth pass down a narrow dark road covered with overhanging rosewood trees, his dipped headlights lighting up a concealed gravel path. He nearly misses a sharp left turn barely visible from the road and on a hunch he pulls down the even narrower road.

He’s rewarded when the trees open up after a couple of minutes drive to reveal a beautiful stone house, all sharp lines and modern design. 

Stiles slams on the breaks and he stops the jeep abruptly. He knocks off his headlights along with killing the engine, breathing deeply as his phone once again announces him ‘arrived’. 

There are some dim lights coming from the ground floor but he’s not close enough to the house to see if he’s in the right place. He might have to do some recon on foot just to make sure.

Just as he decides no one from the house has seen his approach and it’s safe to go exploring, his door is yanked open. He finds himself on his back on the well kept gravel driveway.

He’s rolling and on his feet as a foot stamps the space on the ground where his head just was and he ducks a punch, preparing to fight in nearly pitch darkness when a glow of eyes and dark swishing hair gives away just who might be in front of him.

He holds his hands up and steps out of her way as she comes at him again with a snarl.

“Cora? Holy shit, Cora stop, it’s me,” Stiles says hurriedly catching his breath and throwing himself back a few paces out of reach of her claws.

“Stiles?!” The growling stops abruptly. “No. Fucking. Way.”

“Yeah. Surprise!” Stiles grins and he lets out a thump of breath as Cora throws herself at him, crushing him in hug.

She pulls back just as quickly.

“You tell anyone I hugged you, I’ll break your face Stilinski,” she says, but Stiles can tell she’s grinning then her voice goes somber. “Wait... what the hell are you doing here? Someone’s dead right...? Oh fuck no, Peter’s back isn’t he? I knew he’d show up eventually, that motherfucker, I’ll kill him myself this time...”

“Cora, that’s not it. Definitely not Peter. Nobody’s dead. Or at least, I don’t think anyone is. I’ll explain if you let me have a quick shower and a cold drink first. I’m running on empty. I’ve been pretty much travelling non stop since yesterday. I’m err... Well truth is, I’m actually here for your brother,” Stiles scratches his head and he shrugs.

Out in the humid night air he’s starting to get too warm again in his shirt and suit trousers. He should have changed at the airport. And he still needs a pee like nobody’s business. Cora’s lucky there isn’t a yellow puddle under his feet after coming at him like that in the dark.

“I knew it,” Cora says, tone incredulous, eyes narrowed. “I told him. I told him you’d come visit if he just got his head out of his ass and _asked_ you to.”

“What do you mean? No one asked me to come,” Stiles frowns. “You’re a lot more sweary than when I last knew you by the way.”

Derek had never given any inclination at all that he might want Stiles around for a visit, that he might want to see him in person. He hasn’t even heard a word from the guy in like four years, not since their last email exchange. Cora’s words are more than perplexing.

“Oh... right. Well, come on then,” Cora snaps her mouth shut, looking a little bewildered. 

She opens the back door to the jeep before he has half a chance to dwell on her earlier statement and she grabs his carry on.

“Derek’s going to absolutely lose his shit when he sees you,” she hums thoughtfully.

“Yeah... that’s what I’m afraid of.” Stiles grimaces but he follows her up the driveway, stones crunching loudly and ominously under his polished black shoes.

—————

As it turns out, his worry could be delayed a little while, as Derek isn’t at the house.

“Well it’s only eight o’clock local time. There’s a bar about twenty minutes walk from here down in the village. It’s kind of a spit and sawdust type of venue. They get a lot of bikers, tourists coming through, that sort of thing. It’s a decent way to spend an evening, shooting some pool, cold beer. Well, actually, it’s the _only_ way to spend an evening out around here, but we kind of like it that way,” Cora explains as she walks him around the house.

“To be honest Cora, I probably wouldn’t even leave my house if it was like this. This place is completely insane,” Stiles sighs wistfully as she leads him into yet another bedroom upstairs on the tour, this one with a little balcony overlooking the surrounding forest area. “Is that a freaking pool?!”

“Yep. This part of Brazil is where I lived before I came back to Beacon Hills the first time. Then when I left you guys I came back here again, but this time I had our family’s money to build something for myself, somewhere to stay. I spent a lot of time travelling around Brazil when the house was getting finished, getting to know the locals and this time it felt like coming home. I finally felt like I had roots. I suppose it made sense to Derek to come back here after you and Scott killed Monroe and you guys sort of tied up that chapter in your lives. He felt like you, well all of you, would be safe for a while without him being around,” Cora smiles, pulling out some blankets and towels from a spacious closet and dumping them on the huge bed.

Stiles puts down the glass of cold lemonade she’d made him on the heavy wooden nightstand and he strokes the white Egyptian cotton sheets longingly. He stifles a budding yawn with his fist.  
Oh right. He’s bushwhacked. 

“You can have this room while you’re here. I assume you’ll be here long enough to need a bed? Derek’s next door to the left and I’m down the hall on the right, the one right at the end. He won’t be back until at least midnight tonight so I’d get comfy if I were you, it’s the full moon. Derek likes to run shifted in the woods after he’s been to the bar around this time of the month. I can’t complain, it keeps the locals at a healthy distance, they don’t get too curious. Sightings of _O Lobo Preto_ have become stuff of legend around here,” Cora grins at him. “There’s an en suite in there. Get cleaned up, sleep a bit. I have to go out for a while, my boyfriend Lucas was expecting me when you showed up. I’ll be back around the same time as Derek. Then we can talk. I want to know what you’re doing here. Why now.” 

Cora gives his shoulder a little squeeze and she strokes down his arm, marking him. Tactile wolf.

“Sure,” Stiles nods his assent and he chucks her under the chin gratefully. Cora laughs and she shoves him playfully backwards. Stiles had forgot how much he missed her.

As soon as she lets the door click shut he strips off his work clothes and he dumps his small suitcase out on the bed, fishing for his toiletries bag.

He takes the longest pee known to man, seriously, he nearly sang his way through the entirety of Bon Jovi’s ‘Always’ by the time his stream stopped and he climbs into the huge shower. He turns the complicated looking setting between the blue and red dots and it springs to life, the strong jets immediately cooling off his skin and washing away his sweat and the clingy scent of travelling.

He takes his time in there, using his honey and almond shower gel (same one he’s used since he was a kid, same one his mom used... he’s a creature of habit) and he scrubs his body down and then soaps up his hair with the fancy looking shampoo that’s already in there, letting the water wash away the day and relax him.

When he’s done he steps out onto the damp tiled floor, belatedly throws a bath mat down to absorb the escaped moisture and he wraps a fluffy white towel loosely around his waist.

He shoves his things off the bed when he goes back in the room and he flips the lamp on before flopping down face first into the plump pillows; with a groan he knows it’s game over, it’s just so _comfy_. His eyes droop.

He wakes later to complete darkness and it takes him a hot second to remember where he is. He turns the lamp on. He was sure he turned it on before falling asleep. He’s fucking freezing, the AC in the room has been turned right up and it’s blasting cold air on his back and neck. 

Someone’s also thrown a sheet over him as he’d slept. He finds a little remote on the bedside and he clicks the air con off.

There’s a plate with a saran wrapped sandwich on the bedside table and a little neon yellow post it note is attached to the top of it.

 _I can never un-see your pale butt. Eat and then come find me. I’m around. C x_ It says when he un-sticks it and reads it. 

Ah. Cora already came back then. 

He opens the sandwich up and he practically swallows it whole, washing it down with the remnants of his lemonade from earlier. He feels infinitely better after getting clean, having a nap and getting some food inside him.

He goes to check his wrist and he remembers his watch is broken, so he grabs his phone up instead, which Cora has plugged into his charger for him. She’s a good egg. 

His phone informs him it’s nearly one in the morning. He hadn’t even stirred. With a start he realises that Derek must also be back by now.

He gets up and he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and sort his hair out. Where he’s slept on it wet, it’s practically unsalvageable. It’s a little longer than usual, but he manages to tame it down to a half suitable tousled look.

He dresses in some clean clothes, blue jeans and sneakers and he plucks out his last clean t-shirt and he groans.

He had been so hyped up to leave, he’d grabbed his still packed bag from his trip to Massachusetts, shoving a few new items in.

He’s regretting it now because he’s shoved his old black academy recruit t-shirt into his bag instead of what he thought was a plain t-shirt, and boy has his body shape changed since he was twenty two.

He pulls it on. It’s really tight across his shoulders and arms and if he stretches it rides up on his toned stomach and it shows plenty of skin. He shrugs, he’ll have to do. Not like he’s got much choice. At least the middle of the logo has worn off, so in white letters over his left nipple it only says Rec it, the r and the u missing from recruit. 

Maybe he can get away with it looking like a new cool brand. 

He shoves his wallet and phone into his back pocket and he belatedly realises he’s got no where on his outfit to conceal his gun and it’s far too hot for a jacket. He finds a loose air vent in the room and he hides it in there. It’s not professional but it will have to do for now. 

For good measure he sweeps the room for bugs and he’s relived to find nothing. He does the bathroom and the other bedrooms upstairs for good measure. He doesn’t so much as even look at Derek’s bedroom door though.

It seems so far Valerie Miller has been true to her word then, the FBI don’t have eyes or ears inside Derek’s house.

He makes his way out of Cora’s bedroom and down into the main area of the quiet house, descending the stairs softly. He walks into the dark open plan living area and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a loud snore.

Cora is sacked out on the couch, one leg slung over the arm and she’s dead to the world, mouth hanging open.

The rest of the house is dark and silent. It would seem that Derek hasn’t quite made it back yet.

Stiles unlatches the front door and he heads off in the direction of the woods and surrounding farmland. 

Cora said Derek might be out there running, so if Derek’s not come back, he’s going to go and find him.

Stiles walks in near darkness for nearly half an hour. It’s lucky the moon is full, lighting up the forest floor because he’d probably have fallen to his death about a hundred times already.

The tree line breaks and he sees the edge of a the village appear; lights and noise are dull in the background, increasing as he approaches.

He walks through the main Street and it’s not nearly as rural as Cora had made out, there’s even a few open shops and little stalls dotted about with people manning them. There are a few restaurants still open too, despite the late hour.

It does look very touristy.

Stiles spots the cafe that Derek had been photographed outside of with a shudder and he offers a small wave to an old man who is bringing in umbrellas and chairs and turning his sign to closed.

Stiles reaches what he thinks is the bar, a huge stone building with a sign saying Cerveja above it. Beer. He appreciates the simplicity of that.

He notes that there are numerous motorcycles parked outside and a few gnarly looking trucks in a gravel car park. The noise coming from inside indicates it’s full.

He pushes open the door and he’s prepared for it to be like one of those movie scenes where everyone freezes and turns to look at the newcomer, but everyone’s too busy to pay attention.

There’s at least fifty people crammed inside, a mix of what looks like tourists, locals and bikers, the bar two deep with people waving their money about for service.

The music is loud and energetic and there is a pool table pushed at the back behind various tables and chairs, monopolised by the bikers.

Stiles scans the place best he can, but he doesn’t think Derek’s here, not on first glance. Then again, it’s so cramped he’s not entirely sure if he would know even if he was.

Stiles manages to get an elbow in at the bar when someone moves away and he orders a cold beer. He shouts for the barman to keep the change and the guy breaks out in a grin at his words. The tip is quite sizeable. The kid looks like he’s just made his night.

Stiles debates finding a table but he suspects it might be impossible, so instead he leans against a wooden beam near the wall and he drinks his beer, wondering what his next step is.

He guesses he’ll have to walk back through the woods to try to find the house again and hopefully Derek will be back.

He drains his beer and as he tips his neck back his skin prickles with a familiar and unsettling feeling; he knows he’s being watched.

He gulps down his last mouthful and glances around as casually as he can. When he finds eyes on him, he’s sorely disappointed to find they don’t belong to Derek.

The kid from the bar is learning over it speaking into the ear of one of the bikers, a huge guy in full leathers. The kid is gesturing and pointing at Stiles. Stiles assesses the guy the kid is talking to. The dude’s belly is huge but he’s easily as tall as he is wide. Stiles couldn’t miss him if he tried.

The biker has a large, mean looking scar through his eyebrow and a faded tattoo that snakes down his neck and the guy is looking straight at Stiles with a dangerous smirk on his face. 

Stiles grimaces. Shit. Time to go.

He knows a bad guy when he sees one.

He’d like to be alive when he finally finds Derek, so he heads for the exit and walks outside quickly. 

He heads back down the main road in the village, checking behind him a couple of times, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone following him.

He hits the tree line and walks for a couple of minutes, just relaxing. It’s then that his luck runs out.

“Hey, where you going in such a hurry _Garoto?”_ Scar faced biker has managed to loop him somehow and he’s now about three metres ahead of Stiles. 

He’s blocking his way. Stiles notes he’s addressing him in English, even if he called him boy in Portuguese. The guy has done his homework then, in his very short conversation with the bar man.

Stiles can take him down if he needs to, he’s got no doubt about that, but he was supposed to be visiting under the radar. Plus he doesn’t want to cause any trouble for Cora and Derek if this guy is a local. 

“Look. I really don’t want any trouble,” Stiles holds his hands up, deliberately making himself look smaller.

Scarface chuckles and he clucks his tongue.

“What makes you think I do?” Scarface asks in a scolding voice, his accent heavy. He addresses him as if Stiles were a child.

Stiles’ baby face always gets him underestimated. It’s a curse and a blessing.

“Really. Dude, look. Go back to your drinks, I’ll head back to where I’m staying and we can all still enjoy the evening,” Stiles knows it’s not going to happen as he says it, but he always gives them an out first.

It’s only fair.

“No, I don’t think so Garoto. So many tourists coming through here, flashing their cash, it’s all so _tempting_. Give me your wallet and _then_ I’ll enjoy my evening,” Scarface hums thoughtfully and he steps menacingly toward Stiles.

A robbery it is then. How cliche. 

He’s a big fucker, he’s not going to go down easy. Stiles reaches for his waistband and he realises he’s left his gun behind.

Instead he braces his stance. Oh well.

It’s going to be an old fashioned fist fight then and he’s got a feeling those huge, meaty ham hands connecting with any part of his body won’t be a good thing.

The guy comes at him slowly, obviously thinking Stiles isn’t up for much of a fight, so Scarface is more than surprised when his first punch doesn’t land. Doesn’t even come close to hitting Stiles in fact.

Stiles ducks his tree trunk arm and instead he socks Scarface straight under the jaw, turning his body into the punch and the guy’s head _rocks_. Unfortunately, he stays upright. 

Stiles thinks it’s the guy’s size that meant he didn’t go down from that punch, it was textbook. It should have made him go nighty nighty. Stiles’ throbbing fist reassures him he connected with the weakest part of the man’s jaw.

The guy turns about with an enraged snarl and Stiles realises his mistake. The guy didn’t go down, not because he is huge, but because he’s a _Werewolf._ Scarface's eyes bleed a crimson red. Great. Stiles has all the luck.

“Why is this my life?” Stiles grumbles and he shoves a hand into his jeans pocket. 

A pinch of mountain ash, barely enough to be seen with the naked eye but it’s enough. Truthfully, a single a grain is all he needs. He’s developed his skills a lot over the years, even with Deaton guiding him from afar, teaching him virtually. 

He keeps a little bit of mountain ash loose like forgotten sand in all of his pants pockets, just in case shitfuckery like this creeps up on him, which it does all too often.

Just as he’s about to throw it, the same second that Scarface charges at him, huge head down like an enraged bull, Stiles feels himself yanked backwards off his feet.

Scarface stops and he laughs. Stiles is yanked to his feet and slammed against a tree trunk and he finds his arms pinned by two more leather clad guys.

“Ahhh Garoto, you’ve got some spirit. I think I like you,” Scarface lets the change come over him and his face remains just as grotesque as his human one. “I think that maybe I’m going to keep you instead. It won’t hurt much. You like motorcycles baby?”

Stiles shudders as the two minions pinning him back laugh and he throws back an elbow. With a satisfying crunch he knows he’s broken one’s nose, but they don’t let him go. He tries to pull free but someone snarls and yank his arms back hard, claws digging into his forearms.

“Jesus Christ on a bike,” Stiles groans and he doesn’t struggle for fear of being impaled. “I thought you were fugly before Scarface, but wow... let me make this clear, you orc looking mother fucker. I do not, I repeat, I do not want to be in your weird little brotherhood of evil mutants thanks. You’re not the first creepy uncle type to offer me the bite and I’m sure you won’t be last. In fact, the first was ten times creepier than you. So you kind of suck as a bad guy, just FYI, you don’t even make my top ten. So thanks. But it’s a no from me.”

Scarface stops dead, confusion on his huge hairy face. He leans in close and sniffs the air around Stiles and his frown deepens.

“You’ve been around wolves before Garoto... you’re not afraid at all,” Scarface opens his huge, rancid smelling mouth and lets his fangs drop all the way. 

The other two goons hold Stiles still as Scarface leans toward his throat and for a split second, Stiles is scared.

“Ah. There is is. You’ll taste so much sweeter now,” Scarface grins maniacally and lunges for his throat.

The two at his back let him go to get out of Scarface’s way. It’s a mistake.

Stiles is fast.

He drops to the floor and he’s back on his feet as Scarface clutches at thin air, barrelling into both the tree and dumb and dumber, and they all go sprawling like giant bowling pins.

Scarface is enraged now and he roars loudly, the sound shaking the surrounding trees and he comes at Stiles again with the others flanking him.

Stiles has seen this move before, in Jurassic park. Sneaky little raptors.

Stiles has got eyes on them all. When dumb and dumber attack from his sides, this time he grabs one of them by the arm yanking hard and he plants his feet, like he’s been trained to do. Twisting his body he holds the arm steady and brings his weight down to the ground and he feels a satisfying crack as the bone breaks. It is not neat.

When he releases him the guy is screaming in pain, bone protruding prettily from his elbow.

The guy goes satisfyingly pale when he looks at the damage and he goes down writhing on the ground, retching from the pain and then his eyes roll back in his head. He passed out.

Oops. One human then.

Well screw him, if he was willing to let Stiles get munched on by his boss.

The other guy wrongly takes Stiles’ distraction as an advantage and he meets Stiles’ elbow with his face, right in the same spot he’d copped a broken nose minutes before. The nose breaks again and Stiles notes that this one is definitely a Werewolf by the way he howls in pain this time.

It’s confirmed for definite when the guy shifts and goes for his throat, driving Stiles back onto the forest floor. 

Stiles is not mistaking this for anything less than it is now, he’s fighting for his life.

He gets the Werewolf into a triangle choke hold, trapping the guy’s head and arm between his thighs. Stiles is unrelenting, tightening his thigh muscles as the guy struggles against him. He’s lucky this one was of similar size to him, he probably wouldn’t have managed this move with Scarface.

Speaking of, where the fuck did he go?

As dumber starts to go limp, finally passing out, Stiles looks up. Stiles’ query is answered when Scarface boots dumber so hard in the face it crumples with a wet sounding crunch. 

Stiles winces and he releases the guy but he’s at a disadvantage on his back and this time Scarface is more wary of him.

Scarface picks Stiles up by the throat and he squeezes hard. He punches Stiles in the stomach just once and when Stiles can’t get his breath, Scarface holds him off the ground, big hand around his throat. Stiles starts quickly spluttering for breath, slowly choking.

He can feel the power in the guy’s hands, he will just need to squeeze his fist and Stiles will be done. 

All Stiles can think about is how he didn’t get to see Derek before he died, didn’t get to tell him... to tell him...

“Tut tut Garoto. Now look what you made me do. Last chance. You sure you’d rather die here than join me?” Scarface purrs and Stiles’ vision goes blurry, his fingers scrambling uselessly at the fingers gripping his throat. 

The toes of his sneakers uselessly brush the forest floor, not quite getting any purchase.

“You don’t smell like fear at all. I think you’ll make such a good wolf. I’ll claim you anyway here but I’d still prefer it to be by your choice, always tastes so much better that way. Let me bite you... are you sure you don’t want to be in our pack?” Scarface says. The guy seems to be top shelf delusional.

“Am sure,” Stiles splutters. “Can’t. Ever. Won’t.” Things are starting to go dark. 

Scarface’s eyes glow and all Stiles can think about is how completely shit it is that he didn’t get to see Derek just one more time.

“You wound me. But why won’t you baby? Why won’t you be part of my pack?” Scarface croons, teeth elongating, fangs on Stiles’ throat.

“Because he’s already in mine.” A dangerous and familiar low voiced growl rings out behind Scarface and the sound fills Stiles’ heart with hope. 

There’s unmistakeable rage in those words.

Scarface drops Stiles to the floor and it’s a good thing because someone grabs Scarface around the neck and pulls him clean off his feet. 

Stiles tries to catch his breath on his knees, rapidly sucking in air as he watches Scarface and Derek Hale fight.

Derek doesn’t even shift to beta form and he still gets the upper hand fast, raining loud blows down on Scarface’s meaty head and body. 

Stiles thinks he hears a few bones crack too. Good.

When Scarface is finally on his knees, Derek, panting and snarling grips him around the neck, a mirror of the position Derek had found Stiles and Scarface in.

Derek leans down to him and only then does he let his eyes bleed red, teeth sharpening.

“I should kill you. I should _rip your throat out_ for even touching him,” Derek’s voice comes out on a snarl, deadly low. He sounds so furious but his words ring clear in the night air, reaching Stiles’ ears.

Derek squeezes his fingers letting his claws out and Scarface lets out a broken sob.

But Derek’s had to deal with enough death, Stiles doesn’t want another soul on his conscience. 

Not for him.

If it comes to it, he’ll kill Scarface so Derek doesn’t have to.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice comes out on a rasp and he stumbles to his feet.

Derek stops and he turns to face him, vision clearing and the fury bleeding out of him at the sight of Stiles. 

He drops Scarface and he stalks up to Stiles and takes his jaw gently in one large hand. Derek tilts Stiles’ throat to the side to assess the damage, his eyes concerned and stormy. The grey, blue, hazel mix of colours that Stiles is uncomfortably familiar with are still ringed with red rage and the sub vocal growl running through Derek is making Stiles’ face thrum with the contact.

“O lobo preto... forgive me. I did not know he was with you,” Scarface is backing up on his knees and curling in on himself.

Derek seems to be reminded of Scarface’s presence by his voice; he frowns and he drags his eyes off Stiles and turns to address him, body once again wound tight and furious.

“I’ve warned you before about stealing from tourists and now you’re biting them too Carlos? And killing more of your betas?” Derek growls, eyes bleeding back to red again.

“Alpha Hale, I swear, if I had known, I wouldn’t have... it was an accident, a one off. It just got out of hand, he smells so... well, you know how he smells I suppose,” Carlos snarls back, unable to look away in the face of Derek’s fury.

“I don’t believe you,” Derek growls.

“Me either. For the record,” Stiles offers on a cough and he raises his hand in vote.

“I don’t believe you either Carlos,” another leather clad figure steps through the trees, this one a woman of about sixty. 

She’s got wild blond hair and a weathered face, kind looking though. Stiles thinks she sort of looks like a female version of his dad. She doesn’t look like much but when she comes closer Scarface begins to whimper and he stares down at the ground.

Derek bows his head in a greeting.

“Alpha Silva.” Derek growls.

“Alpha Hale. I’d say it’s good to see you, we were worried we’d missed you at the bar tonight. We’re not passing back through for a while,” Alpha Silva nods back.

“Full moon tonight. I prefer to be outside,” Derek shrugs then glares at Scarface. “Good thing too. One of your little Alpha pet projects tried to bite my guest.”

Stiles winces at the word guest. He would have taken friend.

Alpha Silva looks surprised. 

“Alpha Hale. You offend me, you know how large our pack is now, we _have_ to work with multiple Alphas or there is too much unrest, too much violence,” She says.

“Well that’s clearly not working out Maria. You promised me that there would be control, that _you_ could control them. Carlos is out of hand. If you don’t deal with this, you can skip this town entirely next time,” Derek growls and Alpha Silva nods her head carefully, in agreement.

“Maria, the boy killed Antonio and Bambi,” Carlos, aka Scarface says desperately.

“Bullshit,” Stiles growls now and Derek has to hold him back. “I’m assuming Bambi is the human? He’s passed out from the pain, probably will wake up any minute now and as for Antonio, well he was just going to be having a little nap time until Scarface there stomped his goddamned face in.”

Maria might not be able to tell if the other Alpha is lying, but Stiles is all human and she’s obviously listening for the truth in his words.

“Carlos,” Maria grits out, her eyes bleeding red.

“Maria! I swear, I didn’t, I swear,” Alpha Silva approaches Carlos.

She places her hands on his cheeks and kisses him gently on the forehead and Stiles sees the moment he relaxes, the moment where he foolishly thinks he’s got away with it all. 

Alpha Silva snaps his neck with a crack and his body falls to the side with a thump.

Alpha Silva rouses the human, black veins threading up her arm as she helps him up. She collects the body of her beta Antonio and throws him easily over her shoulder and she addresses Derek; Derek who has very unsubtly put himself between Stiles and Alpha Silva.

“I’ll send someone to pick up the mess. Apologies Alpha Hale. You know I feel strongly about how we behave, especially in another’s territory,” Maria nods respectfully.

Derek nods slightly, and he keeps his back to Stiles and his front to Maria until she’s out of sight.

Derek cocks his head until he’s apparently satisfied she’s out of earshot and then he turns on Stiles.

This time he looks pissed.

Stiles offers him a crooked smile.

“Missed you?” Stiles says and it comes out like a question.

Derek frowns at him.

“Why are you here?” Derek grumbles and he sounds a little perplexed. “Why are you in my woods nearly getting yourself killed?”

“Hello to you too... I needed something. Specifically, I need _you_ for something, ” Stiles tries, pleased his voice is sounding mostly normal now.

Derek’s eyebrows fly to his hair line.

“Stop eyebrowing at me,” Stiles frowns.

Derek comes in close and Stiles tries not to press into him, but it’s a conscious effort. The man looks _good_ and up close, fuck, he smells even better.

Stiles had forgotten about the Derek Hale proximity effect and he’s finding it hard to even think straight right now. Ha. Think straight.

Derek leans his face into his and for a startled moment, Stiles thinks he’s going to kiss him. 

Instead, Derek turns his head and he inhales deeply at Stiles’ neck.

“You used my shampoo.” Derek says, voice low in his ear.

Stiles shudders.

“It was in the en suite to the spare bedroom...” Stiles explains, as if that makes any sense.

“Still smell like you though. Unmistakeable. Honey, almonds and just _you_. Exactly the same, after all this time. I thought I was going mad when I caught your scent near the house... I was already tracking you when I heard him. I heard Carlos roar and when I got closer and your scent hit me fully... I thought... well, I don’t know what I thought,” Derek muses and he shakes his head, as if it’s completely baffling him that Stiles is there.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Stiles mumbles, face flushing due to Derek’s close proximity. 

He’s always been a goddamned space invader. 

“What do you want from me Stiles?” Derek’s voice is all heat and his hands twitch at his sides. 

Stiles could swear he’s about to touch him. Stiles gulps.

“I want... I wanted...” Stiles breathes and this time he’s knows Derek is staring at his mouth, there’s barely an inch between them.

“What...? You wanted what?” Derek hmms and he licks his lips.

“I wanted to offer you a job.” Stiles blurts out.

Derek steps back so fast that Stiles pitches forward a little.

“A job.” Dereks voice is suddenly flat and he shoves his hands in his jeans.

With Derek out of his space, Stiles can mostly gather his thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah! A job. The most amazing thing happened at work and I’ve been given all this funding Der, you won’t even believe it. I can have a team and the first person I thought of was you so I just got on a plane and came down. I’m getting ahead of myself, there’s so much to tell you,” Stiles rushes out.

“You came here. All the way here. To offer me a job.” Derek sounds like Stiles has just offered to take a shit on his doorstep.

“Yes?” Stiles doesn’t know what’s happening here but he feels like he’s missed a step somewhere. A big step. Then fallen down the stairs by the way Derek is glaring at him.

“You know what? Just go home Stiles.” Derek says on a growl and with that he stomps off into the trees.

Stiles stands there for at least ten minutes before he starts walking, wondering what the hell just happened.

——————

Stiles finds his way back to the house mainly by luck. The one time he got turned around he thought he saw a flash of black fur in the distance so he followed that way, hoping it was Derek. The house had miraculously re-appeared a few minutes later. Derek, however, did not.

He’d been slowly getting more and more pissed off the further he had walked, and his neck is kind of sore where he’d been manhandled by Carlos.

He gets into the jeep instead of heading straight up to the house and he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and he presses a few buttons. He’s cracked the screen again.

The line rings twice and he is relieved when Lydia picks up. It’s late now, three in the morning, but Brazil is two hours ahead of Massachusetts. He’s taken a risk that she would still be up.

“Took you long enough,” Lydia says in lieu of greeting. “How did it go?”

“Hey,” he says, voice subdued. “Sorry, I found him but I was kind of being choked to death by a biker werewolf for a bit and then I don’t think I put it across how I wanted to when he had to rescue me. He was so pissed at me. Like I’m some kind of fair maiden instead of a bonafide FBI agent.”

“Who got boner-fied? I take it he said no then?” Lydia chuckles. “Colour me surprised.”

“That joke was tragic, more my level than yours. I’m rubbing off on you. And don’t make a joke out of that either, it’s below you. He didn’t say no, not quite. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain really,” Stiles thumps his head back into the headrest. “He’s even more grouchy than I remember.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve thought it through and _I’ll_ do it. I’ll consult for you. I mean I’ve been helping you anyway, may as well get paid extra for it,” Lydia hums.

“I thought you were on board anyway? When I called you on my way to the airport you said...” Stiles begins.

“What I said was, I think it’s a good idea and you will definitely need a consultant and one who is an MIT professor would be a great idea,” Lydia clicks her tongue.

“You’re telling me that wasn’t you committing?” Stiles sighs. 

He’s almost too tired for Lydia tonight. He wanted reassurance from her, not for her to add an extra layer to his budding migraine.

“Not quite the same, no. But as I said, I’ve thought it through and I’m in. Lucky for you. But we definitely need Derek,” Lydia adds helpfully.

“What do you want me to do? Beg him?” Stiles groans.

“Sweetie, if that’s what it takes, fuck yes. Didn’t they teach you any seduction techniques at the academy? Try that,” Lydia sounds bored.

“Number one: no. They didn’t teach us seduction tactics, I’m an FBI agent, not James Bond. Number two: Derek’s had enough people emotionally manipulate him in his life, I’m not adding me to that fucked up pile. Not that he’d let me get within two feet of him like that anyway,” Stiles rubs his eyes.

“You really do only have one oar in the water don’t you?” Lydia scolds him.

“That sounds like a Valerie Miller saying,” Stiles frowns suspiciously.

“Sure it is. We went for dinner this evening,” Lydia says cheerily. “I wanted to make sure if this all went to shit you had a job at the end and it wouldn’t bite you in the ass.” 

“Oh for heavens....” Stiles groans.

“I’m only looking out for you. Say thank you Lydia,” Lydia says.

“Thank you Lydia,” Stiles grumbles.

“Right. I’ve got a morning lecture to deliver on the foundations of artificial intelligence and I need my beauty sleep,” Lydia informs him. “Take your head out of your ass and talk to Derek. You two always fell down on the communication front.”

She hangs up.

“Yes dictator,” Stiles says into the silent phone and he throws it on the seat.

He supposes he’ll have to face Derek sometime, he might as well get it over with. He gets out of the jeep and walks up to the house.

He finds the front door open and surprisingly Derek is there, sitting stoney faced on a huge brown arm chair in the lounge area. 

Derek’s hands are clenched on the arms, fingers white like he was forced into it against his will.

Cora is sitting opposite him and they both have suspicious rips in their t-shirts.

“Sit down Stiles,” Cora growls, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Derek. 

“Erm, I think I’m good,” Stiles says nervously.

Derek rolls his eyes and the tension goes out of him, and along with it the atmosphere in the room. Cora relaxes back into a slouch.

“Just sit Stiles. Derek is sorry he was such an ass earlier,” Cora gestures to the empty couch which Stiles takes, elbows on his knees.

Derek doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at Stiles. He just glares at Cora.

“Stiles, do you want to explain what you’re doing here now? And start from the beginning?” Cora nods encouragingly.

“Yeah... ok. Yeah. So, I don’t think I explained it properly earlier Der. So my boss is a really good person except turns out, she’s been keeping tabs on me since that botched op back when I was a trainee in the academy and I let you escape. You know, the one where I had to drag you out of that building because Interpol put out a red notice on you?” Stiles offers.

“You dragged _me_? I carried you out of that building you mean, you shot yourself in the foot,” Derek sits up and looks at him, eyes lighting up.

“Well no, that’s not quite how I remember it...” Stiles begins.

“Well there’s your version, then there’s the truth,” Derek’s eyes flash and he bares his teeth. “I had to rescue you then, same as I had to rescue you tonight.”

“Hey dickwad, chill out, your toxic masculinity is choking me and I’ve had all the asphyxiation I can take for one night,” Stiles frowns and Derek begins to stand up, growling.

“DEREK SIT DOWN,” Cora shouts and her voice is jarring in the quiet room. “Stiles, get on with it please, I can’t take you two bickering like little old ladies all night.”

Derek does as he’s told and he waves his hand toward Stiles, as if to say continue.

“Right. Well anyway, since then, my boss kept tabs on you and separately she tracked my work. And there was a lot of suspicious shit to be tracked to be honest. Anyway, long story short, blah de blah, she’s got a really sad origins story and she knows about the supernatural shit in the world and she wants to do some good with what she knows. So because she can only trust me to build this up, she’s put me in charge of S.C.A.R.E.D.D,” Stiles finishes.

“What the fuck is scared?” Derek’s looking at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Oh! Sorry. I just thought up the name on the walk back, you know because I had no one to keep me company. It stands for Supernatural Crime Agency- Rescue, elimination and detain division. Double d. S.C.A.R.E.D.D! Ta dah!” Stiles grins triumphantly.

“Because that just rolls off the tongue,” Derek complains. “What will S.C.A.R.E.D.D do exactly?” 

“Well, it will basically be what I do now, but with a bigger team and more funding. Hunt down the bad guys, except we will document it correctly, all the supernatural shit included. And feed in only to my boss for a whole year. Then, if we have a good success rate in our first year and we think we can market it in the right way to the director we might expand or even go public,” Stiles’ knee bounces.

Derek balks but Cora sits up excitedly.

“Are you shitting me? Go public?” Cora buzzes.

“Sure. Why not?” Stiles shrugs.

“Because it’s fucking dangerous. Because of hunters,” Derek growls.

“Well this is the beauty of it, we would make the rules. So we can introduce measures to officially police the hunters, that sort of thing if we did go public. We’d be the first to speak out and also we’d have proof there’s good guys and bad guys in all species. My boss, the Deputy director is giving me free run with the whole thing. Look, I’m not saying it’s without risk, but it’s a year... and if it feels too risky for you and you want to pull out at any point, I’ll destroy all your involvement Der,” Stiles offers. “They told me they destroyed all they have on you anyway as a sweetener to get me to do this. They don’t have anything on you regardless of whether you want to do this or not.” 

He’d been thinking about that and he makes sure that Derek knows he’ll have an out if this goes sideways.

“You need me,” Derek sits up straighter as if he’s just realising something.

Stiles flushes.

“Well yeah,” Stiles answers truthfully.

“You need me because if you do go public about your little division and it’s been a bunch of humans hunting down supernatural creatures for a whole year then shit will hit the fan and you’ll never get any of the Werewolves on side. You’ll alienate them. Along with anything else that goes bump in the night actually,” Derek frowns. “That’s why you came for me.”

“I won’t lie and say that’s not part of the reason,” Stiles looks Derek dead in the eyes. “But I don’t have to remind you that I know a _lot_ of supernatural creatures Derek, a lot of other Werewolves included in that. I came because I wanted _you_ specifically.”

The way Derek looks at him is unreadable but Stiles could cut the tension in the room with a knife. 

He’s said his bit. He gnaws on his lip and waits him out but Derek just stands up and heads for the kitchen, shoulders slumped.

He looks back at Stiles and there’s something sad in his eyes.

“You need to find someone else,” Derek says and he steps out the back patio doors into the night.

Stiles looks at Cora.

“Well, I think that went really well,” Stiles puts his head in his hands.

“What did you expect? You haven’t seen him for six years and you show up here trying to recruit him to be part of something that will change the way the entire world thinks about Werewolves. It’s a lot of responsibility to get something like that right. It’s important,” Cora says.

“When you put it like that, I don’t think _I_ want to be responsible for it either,” Stiles shudders.

“Oh shut up Stilinski. You’re perfect for this. Of course you are. Who else are you asking to be in the team?” She says and Stiles feels a bit stupid.

“Oh. Look Cora, I didn’t ask you because of all that stuff you said about this being your home and you putting down roots. You can totally be in S.C.A.R.E.D.D if you want,” Stiles offers. “I’d be glad to have you.”

She looks alarmed.

“Oh hell no, that’s not what I was getting at. Not at all. I was just curious. I _am_ happy here. Me and Lucas have been talking about him moving in, I’m not going anywhere,” Cora says shaking her head. “I built this damned house, I’m staying put.”

“Oh ok. Cool,” Stiles is glad he didn’t offend her.

“Derek on the other hand. He’s bored Stiles. This isn’t where he wants to be. Since you’ve been here I’ve heard him say more words than I’ve heard him say in an entire month,” Cora offers. “He’s not happy.”

“I can tell, he’s been very vocal about me being here. We’ve always been able to wind each other up,” Stiles grimaces.

“It’s so much more than that and you know it,” Cora frowns at him.

“Maybe...” Stiles trails off.

“Stiles I know. I know what happened when you were both in Beacon Hills last. The day that Derek left?” Cora prods.

Stiles pales.

“He told you?” Stiles swallows nervously. He thought they’d both be taking what happened to the grave, especially the way Derek had reacted at the time.

“Sure he did. It was important to him,” Cora says sadly.

“Well he could have fooled me,” Stiles frowns.

Cora frowns and she smacks him on the back of the head.

“I’m sensing this is a conversation for another day. I’m going to bed. Get some sleep. I saw your return flight ticket for Monday morning. You haven’t got long to convince him,” Cora mutters.

Stiles’ mind keeps him awake for a long time that night, his memories an unwilling companion.

—————-

The truth is, he’s been in love with Derek since he was sixteen years old. 

Derek was just always just so unattainable, mysterious at twenty and emotionally unavailable for so long. Stiles never knew how to approach him then. He even convinced himself that it was just a weird crush on a cooler, slightly older guy and it would wear off, just like his crush on Lydia.

But then a few years passed and they’d all got so much closer, especially during those few years straight out of Beacon Hills high when they’d all made that pact to hunt down Monroe. Derek hadn’t left them, he’d stayed in Beacon Hills and he’d supported them, travelling and hunting her down right alongside them. He’d come back when they needed him, when it mattered.

And that emotional barrier that Derek had always had carefully constructed around Stiles had started slipping, showing Stiles who he really was as a person and Stiles had started wanting him more, not less. 

Stiles and Scott had been the ones to finally find Monroe in the end. She’d been hiding out in a cabin in the Mexican hills, stuck halfway up the Pico de Orizaba; surprisingly Araya Calavera had given them the intel that led them to her, Araya’s new found loyalty to Chris Argent and the code her driving force behind the hunter to Hunter betrayal. 

Just as Monroe had been about to put a wolfsbane infused bullet into Scott’s head, Stiles had barrelled in and shot her straight between the eyes, no hesitation. 

Derek had followed in moments later having dispatched with two of her guards and he had grabbed him into a tight, relieved one armed hug. She had been the first person Stiles had killed since Donovan and honestly, he didn’t lose any sleep over it.

So after that, when Derek had told them all over dinner at his dad’s house that he was leaving for Brazil now the job was done and Monroe was gone, Stiles had just frowned at him. 

Stiles hadn’t really known what the unfamiliar pang in his chest was then. He knew it was unfair for Derek to put his life on hold any longer for them all and stay in Beacon Hills, he’d already given up so much for them. 

Even Stiles was leaving for Washington a few weeks after that, now his internship was complete, so what would Derek be staying for?

But that pang had remained, crippling him right up until the day of Derek’s departure and it was strongest when he’d helped Derek lock up the loft building and they’d walked down the stairs together, shoulder to shoulder.

He will never forget that moment as long as he lives, it’s written on his heart like a scar.

Stiles had stopped in the abandoned downstairs lobby and Derek had just stood there, hands stuffed in his leather jacket, face unusually open.

“So... that’s it. You’re all done here?” Stiles had tried to keep his voice neutral as he leant his back onto the wall, placing one foot on it to balance him.

“Yeah. I sent all my stuff ahead. I doubt Cora will unpack for me though,” Derek told him.

“No, I doubt it. She’s probably too busy running naked through the woods,” Stiles shuddered.

“Oh my god, do you have to?” Derek had grimaced. “That’s my sister.”

“Sorry! I’m not thinking about her naked I swear,” Stiles protested, holding his hands up.

Derek had cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not lying! Feel!” Stiles yanked on Derek’s arm until his hand popped out of his pocket and he’d dragged him closer, placing Derek’s palm over his heart.

Derek had made a soft sound of surprise, but he’d allowed the manhandling and he crowded in closer to Stiles. 

Stiles hadn’t thought it through because the second Derek’s hips were inches from his and Derek’s stupid lovely face was all up in his, his heart had begun pounding erratically.

And Derek, shit, Derek’s hot palm was fit neatly over his heart, feeling every tick and jump that Stiles was always so careful to hide from him.

The curious and open look on Derek’s face suggested he was halfway to screwed already.

Derek had cocked his head like a puppy and sniffed the air, nostrils wild and he flushed a beautiful shade of red, as if he really wasn’t intending to be so obvious about scenting him.

His eyes had widened comically when he was hit with a nose full straight of Stiles’ arousal.

“Fuck,” Stiles had breathed but Derek hadn’t moved away, instead his eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide.

Keeping his palm where it was, pinning Stiles to the wall, Derek had spoken the words that had set them on their path to not speaking for nearly six whole years.

“Stiles,” Derek had breathed, eyebrows raised in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he was smelling coming from him. “Have you ever thought about _me_ naked?” 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles had groaned. “No?”

“Lie,” Derek growled and the next second his mouth had been on Stiles’, lips demandingly hard, wet and insistent and Derek kissed him exactly how Stiles had imagined he would except this was so much better. Instead of just imaging him, Stiles could taste, see and smell him and Stiles was seconds from declaring his undying love. Stiles had moaned shamelessly and gotten his hands in his hair.

Derek had surged into him desperately as he’d fucked his tongue into his mouth, grip bruising on his thighs and Stiles had just taken it, trying to push against him and give back.

And then in a flash, Derek had been across the room wiping at his mouth, as the door to the lobby flew open.Scott and Malia had burst in, unaware of what they’d disturbed, laughing and talking.

“Oh hey dudes! Derek, we had to come say goodbye bro! We’re going to miss you,” Scott had said and Stiles had been left bereft and wanting against the wall as Scott had walked Derek out to his car. 

Derek hadn’t said so much as a goodbye to him.

After that, a part of him had accepted he and Derek weren’t meant to be, maybe it just wasn’t written that way. The kiss was just an accident, something Derek regret.

Then Derek had sent him a couple of emails and reignited his hope, but not once had Derek addressed what had happened between them so Stiles deduced he definitely wanted to forget it.

Stiles doesn’t blame him. He’d got his sex stank all up on Derek and in the moment, Derek had gotten caught up and kissed him. Then, as soon as Derek had been allowed some space, Scott’s interruption breaking the moment, the guy had regret it. Stiles has long made peace with that. Derek couldn’t have known Stiles’ feelings. Derek’s weak attempt at trying to maintain a friendship via email had been appreciated, but it just never felt quite normal between them after that. Their entire friendship was based on flirty and sometimes offensive banter and now it felt like there was an edge to that.

But now all of this, Stiles being in Brazil and seeing Derek again... he’s beginning to wonder what if.

They’re both different people now, of course they are. 

But all the things Stiles loved then about Derek, his passion, his tenderness, his temper, his eyebrows... they’re all still very much a part of him. 

It’s hard to keep in mind that they will only ever be friends, if that.

Sleep eventually claims him when the sun rises.

——————

Stiles wakes up much later on the Saturday with a thumping headache and he knows he’s probably dehydrated. 

He wrestles some sweats onto his bottom half and he looks at his ruined t-shirt from the previous night forlornly. Fighting on the forest floor is not good for the wardrobe, he imagines Lydia scolding him.

He pads barefoot in the direction of the kitchen going sans shirt and he’s half shocked to see Derek sitting at the table reading a newspaper. He almost looks normal.

He can feel Derek’s eyes on his bare back as he opens the fridge and he helps himself to orange juice, getting a glass from the shelf in front of him.

He downs it then fills it up and turns to face Derek, but his eyes are already back on his newspaper. 

Stiles rakes his eyes over him and he thinks it’s unfair that Derek looks so good. 

Derek’s sitting there in black running shorts and a vest and his visible skin is tan. His arms are firm and he looks as fit as he ever did, you’d never put him at thirty three.

Stiles’ eyes catch on the dark hair dragging up his forearms and he’s mesmerised. 

Was the dude always that hairy? Stiles sort of wants to put his tongue all over him.

Derek coughs and Stiles guiltily looks him in the face, preparing for another fight.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Derek asks softly instead.

“Oh. Sure. Yeah I’m starving. Do you have any Tylenol? My neck isn’t as bad as it looked last night, just a little stiff but I’ve got a thumping headache,” Stiles rubs his temple and scratches his happy trail at the same time.

Derek’s chair scrapes as he stands and Stiles thinks he’s making for the fridge but instead Derek approaches him and runs his hand up Stiles’ bare arm and he clasps his shoulder.

Stiles gulps.

“What are you doi-oh. Ohhh,” Stiles groans in relief as black veins snake up Derek’s arm and he sags bodily into the guy, face planting his chest. Derek doesn’t pull away though, he just cups the back of his head and Stiles enjoys the impromptu pain drain.

“Forgot how awesome that is,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s chest before stepping back and giving the guy his space.

Derek doesn’t move back though, nor does he let go of Stiles’ arm.

“Can I... can I see your throat please?” Derek’s voice sounds a little rough. 

Stiles tilts his neck up without hesitation. 

He knows he’s a little bruised there, but he’s had worse and he’s feeling much better after Derek’s healing hands have been on him.

Derek’s face is thunderous as he trails a thumb lightly over the worst of the marks.

“Fucker,” Derek grumbles. “If he hadn’t howled I might not have heard him in time.”

“Well, I’m glad you did big guy. Although I totally had him,” Stiles grins, decidedly letting their argument from the previous night go. Surprisingly Derek smirks back.

“Sure you did. I’ve never seen someone assault someone’s hand with their throat before, you definitely had it covered,” Derek chuckles darkly.

“You’re in a slightly better mood today,” Stiles offers.

“Yeah. I was a bit on edge last night, I’ll admit. It was the full moon and you showing up unexpectedly sort of threw me a bit,” Derek says honestly, smiling shyly. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.”

Stiles wants to touch the soft laugh lines near his eyes. 

His hands twitch at his sides and Derek lets him go, but he doesn’t step out of his space.

“You look really good Der,” Stiles offers truthfully.

“Yeah? You do too,” Derek says quietly. “You’ve changed a bit.”

Derek looks down Stiles’ body thoughtfully and Stiles feels his gaze branding him like fire. Derek lingers on his chest for a beat too long and Stiles feels all over too warm.

He’s so close that Stiles can see the individual lashes on his eyes and fuck, they’ve been here before.

Stiles licks his lips nervously and Derek’s eyes follow the movement. Derek’s never lost that weird space sharing, intense thing he likes to do with Stiles. Good to know. Good. To. Know.

Derek cocks his head suddenly, listening.

“Cora’s up. She’ll be down soon. I’d better start breakfast,” Derek tells him pointedly.

“Ok. Yeah cool,” Stiles hopes he doesn’t sound as affected as he feels as he ducks his head. 

He promised himself he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t torture himself with things he can’t have.

Derek gestures for him to sit at the table and he proceeds to cook up the best eggs and toast Stiles has ever eaten. He is famished though, so he’s probably a little biased.

When he stuffs his fifth piece of toast in his mouth, Cora comes in looking like a wild woman. Her hair is standing up maniacally and one of her eyes seems to be stuck closed.

“I didn’t dream it then, you did show up and ask my brother to be in the A-team,” Cora grabs a fresh piece of toast when the toaster pops.

Derek slaps her hand with a spatula when she takes a huge dry bite.

“Butter it. Heathen,” Derek says.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Cora asks.

“I thought Stiles might like to go for a hike,” Derek has his back to him so he misses Stiles’ surprised face. 

He was absolutely sure that Derek would try to avoid him until he leaves.

“On my own?” Stiles asks, confused.

Derek turns and looks at him like he’s a dumbass.

“No idiot, with me,” Derek says slowly..

“Oh. Right then. What about Cora?” Stiles asks politely.

“I’m working down at the village cafe today, helping out Lucas and his dad,” Cora shrugs. “You boys have fun though.”

She kisses Stiles on the cheek as she passes.

Derek’s frown nearly touches his lips.

“Your breath stinks,” Stiles tells her.

“Blow me Stilinski,” Cora flips him off as she walks out the kitchen.

“Not even if you grew a dick and were the last penis on earth,” Stiles calls after her cheerily.

Derek flushes.

“Get dressed. We’ll leave in twenty,” Derek tells him.

“Hiking. This weekend is the closest thing to a vacation I’m going to get this year and you’re making me go hiking?” Stiles complains. “I thought I could just float around in the pool until my flight Monday morning.”

Derek herds him out of the kitchen but he does give Stiles an extra piece of buttery toast and a cup of coffee to take up to his room though, so it’s not all bad.

—————

Two hours later, halfway up a mountain somewhere, Stiles is sweating his ass off and he feels like crying. 

He plucks at the neck of his t-shirt fanning it back and forth on his chest to try and get some air down there; Derek’s had to lend him one considering he hadn’t brought spares and Cora’s contributed some shorts. 

At the reminder of the shorts he tries to tug them down a little with no luck. They’re running shorts, bright red and so fucking tiny the t-shirt is longer than them. 

“Dude, where are we even going?” He calls out to Derek who is missioning out ahead like some sort of scout dog.

“Don’t call me dude. We’re hiking. Hiking is the activity. There doesn’t have to be a destination,” Derek calls back but does slow his pace a little, so he’s only a metre up ahead now.

It helps. A lot. Mainly because now Stiles has something to look at, motivation to keep going. 

Derek’s back is bare and gleaming tan in the afternoon sunlight, ample muscles bunching as he tentatively picks out the best terrain for Stiles to follow him over. Derek’s vest billows out behind him, tucked into the back of his shorts.

“Excuse you? We’re not going anywhere? Like we will just walk somewhere and then just keep going and walk back? I’m going to die,” Stiles complains. “I’m not built for stamina Derek, I’m a fast and furious kind of guy.” 

Derek actually trips over a rock so abruptly that Stiles slams into him before he can right himself. 

Luckily Derek turns and catches him before he tumbles to his death off a cliff.

“You’re so damned clumsy,” Derek mutters, but Stiles notices his ears have gone red. 

Maybe it’s the heat getting to him. Or maybe it’s because Stiles keeps flirting with him by accident, in his own special way. 

After the way Derek acted last night he figures he owes him a little payback anyway.

He’s mainly just throwing blatant innuendos Derek’s way now, playing oblivious and seeing how red he can make him go.

Derek takes his hands off him, unfortunately, and he points to a ridge in the distance.

“See that ridge up there,” Derek squints putting his hand on his forehead to shade his eyes and he indicates that Stiles should do the same.

“Yeah?” Stiles says tentatively. “That’s where you’re going to bury me?” 

Derek rolls his eyes and it makes Stiles grin beatifically. Just like old times. 

Derek rolling his eyes is the equivalent of him laughing outright at Stiles’ antics. It’s the way he shows amusement. Or so Stiles tells himself.

“Come on. Get up to there and you’ll be fine, I promise,” Derek shoves him out in front of him this time to get him moving.

“Why do I have to go up front?” Stiles grumbles, tentatively picking out a path. “And why am I the one carrying the backpack?”

“I’m helping you build up your wilderness skills,” Derek chuckles. “Also, you said you didn’t trust me not to crush the sandwiches...”

“Ok, but when I fall face first off a cliff it’s on you,” Stiles says looking back over his shoulder.

Derek’s eyes snap up to his guiltily and for a hot second, Stiles thinks maybe he was checking out his ass.

He narrows his eyes at Derek, who seems to be suddenly be really interested in the surrounding foliage now, looking anywhere but at Stiles. Stiles turns and keeps walking, a newfound spring in his step.

“Oh dear, I seem to have dropped my water bottle,” Stiles exclaims loudly as he displays some very wooden acting abilities.

He throws his bottle on the floor and he hears Derek stop just behind him.

“Well pick it up then,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles turns, bats his eyelids and does just that, but instead of couching down he keeps his legs straight. He just bends his body to grab it with his fingers. And he does it slowly, shaking his ass a little as he does it.

Bend and snap. Thanks Reese Witherspoon, taught him skills for life. 

Derek lets out a strangled noise behind him and Stiles grins broadly to himself. 

It’s not just the heat then.

Derek overtakes him and he doesn’t say another word to him until they’re at the ridge.

When Derek stops, Stiles comes to stand at his side and his mouth falls open.

“You lying liar. There _was_ a destination,” Stiles breathes as he looks out over a stunning waterfall, the crashing water blue and inviting.

Derek picks his way down the side of it until they’re half way down, overlooking the clear pool near the bottom and he dumps his stuff on a ridge.

Stiles flounders to toe off his trainers and he tugs on the hem of his borrowed t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” Derek says, halting him.

“Obviously I’m going in,” Stiles says excitedly.

“You can’t jump from here though,” Derek grumps.

“Why not? The water’s clear, there’s no rocks at the bottom,” Stiles peers over the ridge and a thrill goes through him at the height. He’s jumped off worse. 

There was that bridge he took a tumble off when running away from a Nuckelavee that he’d been tracking in Scotland a year ago, that has been twice as high as this.

He tells Derek so.

“What the hell is a Nuckelavee?” Derek asks curiously.

“Ah just this demon thingamabob that kind of looks like a horse. They’re not super common to be honest. Killed six fishermen in North Berwick. Then at least the same amount again by causing really bad drought in the land surrounding where it chose to set up shop. Part of it’s magic is that the people who live there physically can’t leave when it gets a hold of them. They were sitting ducks. It was so bad, it took me a while before I realised it might be something supernatural at play and I got lucky because people can’t leave, but people can still come in. Like a crab trap. It lives in the sea usually, but luckily Lyds told me it couldn’t stand fresh water so I saw the river and jumped. I killed it the next day,” Stiles offers, as causally as if he were talking about baking a cake.

“Of course you did,” Derek’s expression darkens.

“What? That’s what I do,” Stiles says confused. “That’s my job.”

“Nearly getting killed?” Derek frowns.

“Hey. I’m good at it. Not nearly getting killed, but you know... saving people. Protecting people. Not everyone knows the stuff that we know Der, I’ve got a duty to use that. To use it for good. So no one goes through what we had to when we were younger you know, there will be someone that’s knows how to help when people need it the most,” Stiles nods resolutely and he means that, with all his heart.

“That’s... that’s actually very brave,” Derek says quietly.

“Not really. Im terrified most of the time. I’m lucky I’ve got Lydia, and Danny sometimes backing me up,” Stiles smiles.

“You still talk to Danny?” Derek asks aiming for casual, but his tone hitting something else.

“Quite often yeah. I was thinking about asking him to be our tech guy for S.C.A.R.E.D.D actually,” Stiles tugs his t-shirt up and off. 

The noise of the running water is calling him.

“ _Our_ tech guy?” Derek quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. _My_ tech guy. The minute doing this thing became a reality, that I was really doing it, I don’t think I imagined for a second doing it without you. My bad. I know you don’t want to come with me Der, you don’t have to worry. I won’t ask again,” Stiles turns his back slightly.

“Stiles. I’m not... I don’t feel...” Derek starts and his voice sounds sad.

And Stiles just can’t take his rejection right now, not one he side of this beautiful waterfall, not on this stunning day.

“Forget it Der,” he forces a smile, but it feels fake even to him. “I’ll be out of your hair in less than two days and you’ll never have to think about me again.”

With that he steps past Derek and he jumps.

The plummet to the water is a second longer than he thought it would be but when he hits the water with his feet and plunges down into the pool, he feels alive.

He kicks to the surface, face breaking up from the clear water with a gasp and he paddles looking up.

Derek’s peering down at him, expression unreadable.

“Coming in grumpy cat?” Stiles shouts.

Derek joins him with a graceful dive that causes a wave. It make Stiles take in a lungful of water.

When Derek surfaces he’s not smiling and Stiles has water and snot running out of his nose and he’s spluttering.

“That’s a good look on you,” Derek comments. “And I don’t want to never think of you again. You being here is nice.” 

With that ground breaking revelation, Derek swims away and under the spray of the water fall. 

Stiles follows after he’s composed himself and he swims into the dark of the rock behind the waterfall and hauls himself up so he’s sitting next to Derek. 

The noise of the crashing water fills the space and it feels cool and peaceful in there.

They just sit there in silence for a couple of minutes. 

Stiles feels a stab in his gut when he thinks about how much he enjoys being around Derek, even when he’s grumpy. How quickly they’ve fallen into their old routine should be a surprise to him but it just feels right.

Something is definitely different between them now though, for sure. Something is there that wasn’t there before. 

Although Derek is still a grumpy ass, he seems less guarded around him this time round, case in point the kitchen this morning and it’s a bad thing. A really bad thing.

As Stiles looks at Derek, his eyes close and hands back leaning on the cool rock everything feels a little more _possible_. 

Stiles should never have come. A hint of this, of what he’s always wanted is going to be enough to drive him insane for another six years of not having Derek in his life.

Derek opens one eye to peer at him.

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Derek comments.

“Hmm. Yeah,” Stiles lays on his back and closes his eyes, hands on his stomach. “Sorry.”

“What are you thinking about?” Derek asks quietly, like it costs him something to ask. 

It probably does. Stiles usually just blurts whatever’s on his mind, or he used to anyway. Derek’s getting used to the older version of him as much as Stiles is getting used to this new older version of Derek.

Stiles phrases his next words carefully. Derek will know if he’s lying.

“I’m thinking about the department. I’m thinking about my life choices. And I’m thinking about you,” Stiles says honestly, keeping his eyes closed.

“What about me?” Derek says, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“You don’t want to hear it,” Stiles cautions.

“Maybe I do,” Derek says and Stiles can actually hear his frown.

Stiles chuckles and sits up. He faces him.

“Ok. You asked. I’m hurt. I don’t get why you won’t come with me. I don’t get why you’re so pissed off I showed up. I’m hurt you don’t trust me, trust that this will be an amazing thing for me. For you. For us,” Stiles offers staring him right in the eye.

“Stiles, you know I trust you... it’s not that.” Derek shakes his head, eyebrows drawn down.

“What is it then? Explain it to me...” Stiles challenges, blood heating.

“I hadn’t seen you in six years. Six whole years and you show up out of the blue. You barely responded to my emails and here you are. And you’d come out here to just offer me a job. Do you know how that made me feel?” Derek says quietly, eyes on his hands.

“No. I don’t know how it made you feel because you threw a Derek Hale trademark strop and didn’t talk to me,” Stiles points at him.

Derek’s face changes to anger.

“It’s so obvious, it’s painful Stiles. That’s the hard part. Because if you don’t get it, it means you don’t _get it_ ,” Derek pushes off into the water.

“Oh because that makes sense,” Stiles feels his face heat. “Is this about me kissing you at the loft before you left Beacon Hills?”

Derek scowls at him.

“I kissed you, you don’t have to take responsibility for that. And as I said, don’t worry about it Stiles. You didn’t worry back then and you’re not worried now,” Derek swims off.

“What?! Oh conversation over because Derek Hale decides it is huh! Of course it is. Well screw you Derek Hale,” Stiles pushes back into the water himself.

They eat their lunch in angry silence looking out at the water. The trek back is the longest two hours of Stiles’ life.

Neither of them says a word.

—————

Stiles naps when he gets back. Derek disappears the second the house is in sight and Stiles is just done. The guy is an emotionally constipated asshole, some things never change.

He knows he’s making everything awkward getting his feelings everywhere. Hell Derek has probably always known how much he’s wanted him with his superior stupid werewolf senses.

But this isn’t about that, this is about the greater good and Stiles is so done with the fact that Derek can’t see that.

He drags himself out of bed when the sun starts to set on the Saturday evening and he realises he desperately needs a shower.

He sees Derek’s left him another couple of clean t-shirts and some underwear at the end of the bed. Cora has contributed some more short shorts, these ones baby blue, the sadist. 

He takes his time as he showers. Someone’s changed out his empty travel sizes toiletries and Stiles notices a fancy looking lemon and lime citrus shower gel that he swears Derek uses.

He soaps up every part of himself with it, it smells divine. 

His nap has done his mood the world of good. He runs his hand down his torso and down to where his dick is starting to get harder.

It’s been a while since he’s been this relaxed, despite arguing with Derek the entire time he’s been here. 

Arguing with Derek is like second nature to him. A single thought of Derek’s grumpy handsome face is all he needs to bring him to full hardness and he grips his dick hard with a groan.

“Fuck,” he hisses out as he runs his hand up the hard length of his cut cock, the water slicking the way.

He takes his time, teeth in his lower lip to keep quiet as he works himself roughly, stopping every time he’s close to the edge and drawing it out.

He pictures Derek, unable to stop himself, his tan body and dark trail of hair leading down into his shorts and it takes a very short time before his balls are tightening.

“Oh shit,” he groans as he twists his wrist while working the head of his cock.

He imagines getting down on his knees in here for him and Derek holding his jaw in the same gentle way he had the other night and feeding him his big dick. He comes so hard on a grunt, he bangs his elbow on the shower tile.

He turns off the spray and presses his forehead against the cool tile in the shower.

One more day to get through. He’s so fucked.

—————

Dinner starts off awkwardly and it has little to do with the new short shorts.

Stiles padded into the kitchen around half hour later, his hair still damp and wearing one of Derek’s shirts, a worn looking short sleeved green Henley this time. 

His cheeks are flushed from where he’s caught the sun today and after his impromptu jerk off session he is _starved_. He follows his nose to the stove, where Derek is stirring something.

Derek keeps his eyes on the pot he’s hovering over until Stiles comes in behind him and sticks his finger in it. Derek turns slowly and Stiles tries to ignore the way they’re kind of pressed in together.

“Oh my god, what is that? It tastes amazing,” Stiles licks his finger liberally, tasting rich tomato, herbs and some other heavenly tasting ingredients he can’t identify. He only realises what he’s doing when he looks up at Derek’s beet red face.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Stiles asks innocently, popping his finger out of his mouth.

“You... I... you...” Derek’s wooden spoon is frozen midair and he sniffs the air. 

His eyes go wide and he is definitely staring at Stiles’ mouth.

“Well that image is going to haunt me until the day I die,” Cora chirps from where she’s sitting at the table.

Stiles takes a step back and goes to sit next to her. He hadn’t even noticed her, just naturally gravitated toward Derek.

Derek coughs and goes back to stirring.

“Are you two speaking again then?” Cora asks Stiles.

“I don’t know... he didn’t talk to me all the walk back earlier, it was sooo boring,” Stiles muses.

Derek whirls on him and points the spoon in his direction.

“You didn’t talk to _me_ ,” Derek growls.

“I feel like I’ve hopped in a time machine with you two bickering,” Cora grumbles.

Derek turns his back again with a huff.

“We’re having Brazilian wings and a traditional stew,” Derek mumbles. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well it smells great Gordon Ramsey,” Stiles says cheekily.

Derek serves the food and he pops a cold bottle of Brahma with a claw for each of them. 

Stiles and Cora chat easily and Derek joins in after his second beer. Stiles declines a second, already feeling warm and slightly buzzed. He’s never been a big drinker.

“So you can set up pretty much anywhere you want to?” Cora swigs her beer and asks Stiles, the the conversation turning to work.

“Yeah, my boss said I can base wherever. As long as I go back to HQ and report in a couple of times a month, she’s cool with it. I was actually thinking about heading to Beacon Hills when I leave here on Monday. I need to see my dad but I thought I could scope out some office space while I’m there,” Stiles says. “Danny still lives in Beacon Hills and I was thinking about asking Parrish to join us part time too, considering Derek’s not coming I’ll need some muscle. Scott and Malia won’t, I know they won’t. After Monroe, Scott’s kept his distance from the supernatural side of things and to be honest, he’s earned the peace and quiet. It was never in his nature, all the killing. He’s happier out of it and they have the twins to think about now.”

“You can rent the bottom floor of the loft if you want,” Cora offers easily.

“Are you for real? I thought you already rent that place out?” Stiles says.

“Well yeah the apartments, but the bottom floor of the building used to be an office. I’m sure Derek will give you a good deal, no ones even using it,” Cora says.

Stiles looks to Derek, unsure.

“I was going to offer anyway,” Derek mumbles. 

“Wow, that’s amazing. Thanks guys. I’ll probably just rent an apartment in Beacon hills and I’ll be set then. I really appreciate that,” Stiles smiles.

Derek opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but closes it again quickly with a frown.

“So that’s Lydia, Danny, Parrish and you... you assembling a team of people you’ve been in love with at a point in your life then?” Cora side eyes Derek.

“Excuse you,” Stiles nervously looks between Cora and Derek, who is finding his beer bottle label fascinating by the way he’s picking at it. “I was never in love with any of them.”

“Not even Danny? I heard you still speak to him quite often,” Cora quotes him and there’s a loud thump under the table and she grunts in pain.

Stiles looks at Derek confused, because Derek would have had to have told her that. But it was just a passing comment Stiles had made to him. Barely worth noticing.

“Well yeah, I do speak to him quite often. But I’ve never had feelings for Danny. Not like that anyway,” Stiles swallows his last gulp of beer and looks at Derek, who seems to be hanging on his every word. “You know me Cor. I’m kind of a one and done guy in the feelings department. Pining for thirteen years is more my style.” 

Stiles looks down and he grabs his empty plate because that was a little more obvious than he wanted to be. Sure he’s been with other people over the years, but nothing serious. No one ever stuck. 

Lydia always says he’s “mentally involved” with the idea of someone else.

He supposes he is. Except it’s not very mental right now. Nope, the someone else is physical and sitting in front of him with dark hair, stubble that Stiles wants rubbed all over his body and the guy obviously hates the idea of spending any sizeable length of time with Stiles, despite what he says about having him here being ‘nice’.

No one says anything at all as Stiles gathers the dishes up but he keeps catching Cora mouthing things at Derek and Derek shaking his head furiously in return. 

Obvious wolves. He pretends not to notice them as he cleans up.

“Well... on that sad note, I’m going back to bed. I’ve got plans to do sweet FA tomorrow and I’m going to enjoy your pool before heading out,” Stiles throws their empty beer bottles in the glass recycling with a crash.

“Night Stiles,” Cora says

Derek jerks as if someone’s pinched him.

“Ow. Yeah... goodnight Stiles,” Derek says quietly.

“Night both,” Stiles says, putting another painfully false smile on his face.

He walks past them both and despite the fact he knows Derek will be looking at him, he doesn’t look back.

—————

His fake nonchalance lasts about two hours.

He uses his laptop to draw up some more plans, tidy’s up some of his stuff and he gets into bed to try to sleep. He keeps on Derek’s Henley and the short shorts, because screw you Cora, he kind of likes them now.

He can hear the shower flick on next door and the thought of Derek in there all soapy and wet is threatening to send him insane. He flicks the lamp off and tries to smother himself with a pillow for about ten minutes, just until the shower stops.

He can’t sleep. It’s too early anyway, not even midnight and the nap from earlier has ruined him. He is the opposite of bushwhacked right now. 

He’s _inexhaustable._

He gives up and he clicks his lamp on.

He shoves the light sheets off himself with a huff. He hasn’t accomplished anything in the last couple of days.

He came here to offer Derek a job and instead he’s got sucked into some weird sort of time warp where he’s back to being eighteen again, arguing and flirting with Derek Hale.

Well to hell with Derek. 

He’s not eighteen anymore. He’s twenty nine and he’s a successful FBI agent, one who’s going to be running his own department.

He’s saved more people in the last ten years than Derek could even dream about.

He realises he’s actually pretty fucking annoyed.

He gets up. He stomps over to his door and he yanks it open to reveal Derek standing there with his fist raised, as if he was about to knock.

“Of course. Because my life is a hallmark movie,” Stiles steps to the side so he can come in. “What do you want Derek?”

Would it have killed the guy to put a fucking shirt on. His abs are ridiculous.

“Where were you going?” Derek eyes him curiously.

“To see you actually,” Stiles huffs.

Derek, for a second looks hopeful, but then his face turns guarded.

“...why?” Derek asks, putting his hands in his shorts pockets. 

It’s a bad, bad thing because it makes them ride down lower on Derek’s hips and it’s an honest to god struggle for Stiles to keep his eyes on his face.

But Stiles is committed. He’s been distracted by Derek’s hotness every time he’s tried to have a serious conversation with him this weekend and he’s had enough.

“I want you to come with me. I know you said you didn’t want to, but Cora told me you’re not happy here. Not really,” Stiles begins.

Derek doesn’t disappoint. His eyes light up, angry.

“You and Cora have been talking about me?” Derek growls backing him up a little and kicking the door shut behind him. 

Stiles doesn’t move so all it results in is Derek in his space, yet again.

“Like you haven’t been doing the same huh? What was that shit about Danny?” Stiles calls him out.

Derek goes a brilliant shade of red, confirming Stiles’ earlier suspicion.

“Der. I came here to offer you a job, a great job. But more importantly, I came here because I wanted to work with you. It was a great excuse to be around you again,” Stiles says honestly. 

He’s going to go for broke. What does he have to lose. Apart from Derek. But he doesn’t have him anyway. Not really.

“You never needed an excuse!” Derek roars.

“Well you could have fooled me, you never once invited me to visit,” Stiles growls back and pokes him in the chest. 

This time Derek takes a step back himself, so his back hits the wall and well isn’t this a role reversal.

“You never asked!” Derek snarls, fangs dropping. It’s been a _long_ time since Derek has made Stiles afraid. To be honest, he never really managed it then and he’s not managing it now.

Stiles presses in furiously, flattening a palm to Derek’s chest and keeping him in place; he’s no where near done.

“You’re not going anywhere this time. Listen to me, you idiot. I never thought you’d still be the bucket of barely contained man pain that you were six years ago when I came out here. I thought if you wanted to see me before this, you’d have asked! It took everything I had to come here, I was so nervous but excited. Excited because I got to see you again and nervous because I knew there was a possibility I’d be unwelcome. And I was fucking right wasn’t I,” Stiles growls, voice low. “But I still thought you’d have the sense to see a fantastic opportunity when it presented itself.”

Derek’s vibrating with anger, Stiles can feel his bare chest humming under his palm.

“I wanted to... I wanted...” Derek begins, stuttering.

“You wanted _what_ Derek? You wanted to be left alone. You wanted to wallow here for your entire life when you have so much more to give, so much more to become. You wanted a job, without me getting my feelings all over you? Because I won’t, I promise... if you come with me, I swear I won’t make this awkward for you. This thing between us doesn’t have to be weird, I can control it. I can just be professional if that’s what you wanted,” Stiles pleads.

“NO! I WANTED YOU!” Derek roars pressing forward and spinning them, hands in Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles finds himself flipped with his own back against the wall.

Derek’s eyes are burning and he’s breathing heavy, there’s not an inch of space between them.

Derek loosens his grip but keeps his fist tightened in the shirt, as if he’s afraid Stiles will run if he releases him.

“You wanted me?” Stiles lifts his chin defiantly and Derek whines. “Well fuck you Derek, you’ve got a funny assed way of showing it. We kissed back in Beacon Hills and then you left. You fucking left. Now you’ve spent the whole weekend either arguing with me or not speaking to me!”

“You arrived here after me not seeing you for six fucking years and I thought you were here for me. Not to offer me a job. For _me_ ,” Derek breathes. “You didn’t say anything after that kiss either remember, and it was gutting for me too. I’ve wanted you for so long and you’d never given any kind of inclination you wanted me too, apart from that day at the loft when you smelled so good. You wanted me in that moment and I thought that was it. You were leaving for Washington two weeks later, what was I going to do? Stay in Beacon Hills and wait for you? Hold you back? You were so much more than me. Then you’re just here, wearing my clothes, smelling so fucking good, looking incredible. You’re confident, brave and funny and you’re everything you’ve always been and _more_. You flirt with me like you used to do and you get under my skin like you always did, except then it was teasing, but now, god now it’s awful. It so awful, because I want you more than I’ve ever wanted _anything_ Stiles. And you came here after all this time. To. Offer. Me. A. Job.” Derek deflates and his chin falls and suddenly Stiles gets it, gets what Derek’s been trying to say to him since he got here.

Stiles touches Derek’s jaw softly, the way Derek had handled him the other night until he’s looking at him.

“I didn’t visit you because I thought you didn’t want me to. I thought that I reminded you of home or something. Of a life you were trying to leave behind. I thought after we kissed that I’d sort of pushed you into it and I didn’t want to be the guy that forced that on you. If I’d known, if I’d known for one second...” Stiles says gently. 

He takes Derek’s palm and lays it flat on his chest so he’ll feel the truth in his words as well as hear them, same as he did all those years ago. 

“I’m in love with you Der. Of course I am. I’ve loved you for years.” 

Derek’s eyes burn red, but it’s not with anger this time and Stiles lets out a huff of surprised breath because Derek surges forward and seals his lips to his in an open mouthed kiss.

It’s exactly how Stiles had remembered kissing him was and so much better at the same time, because this time he knows they both want it.

Derek rocks his hips at the same time he licks into his mouth and Stiles makes a desperate noise he’s never heard before, not from his own mouth anyway.

It seems to please Derek though, because Derek just presses into him harder, pinning him to the wall with his body. 

Stiles shudders when Derek gets his hands under the hem of his shirt dragging it up and he licks a broad stripe up his neck, biting the tendon there, mindful of Stiles’ bruising.

“Oh fucking hell,” Stiles whimpers.

“You smell so good to me right now,” Derek mumbles into his skin. “Even better than earlier when you came down to the kitchen after you’d jerked off in the shower.”

Stiles balks at that and he winds a hand in Derek’s hair holding him place, where Derek’s now sucking a mark into his collar bone.

“Fuck, I was hoping you wouldn’t smell that,” Stiles flushes.

“Smell it? I fucking heard it. I was in my room before I went to cook dinner. I was listening as you tried to be quiet and honestly, I tore a hole in my pillow I was gripping it so hard. I wanted to come in and fuck you so bad, you don’t even know,” Derek growls.

“That’s so hot. I was thinking about you as I stroked myself off. Did you jerk it Der? Did you jerk it for me?” Stiles is talking himself into an orgasm, he grips his dick to stop it building and Derek swats his hand away.

Derek unties the strings on Stiles’ short shorts, fingers working frantically. 

He yanks the Henley off Stiles’ head and he kisses him as he roughly fumbles with the shorts, shoving them down Stiles’ thighs.

“I didn’t jerk off, I fucked my mattress, claws in the pillow and pretended I was fucking you,” Derek growls.

Stiles’ dick springs free and he groans as Derek unceremoniously gets a hand around him and shoves his own shorts down in the process.

He thrusts his dick into Stiles’ hip and Derek groans loudly.

Stiles looks down as Derek takes them both in his broad hand, and begins thrusting against Stiles. Derek’s leaking precome all over them both and the sight is enough to short circuit Stiles’ brain.

“Nghhh,” Stiles says intelligently, body burning with sensations he’s wanted to feel so long with Derek. “Der, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it,” Derek pants, teeth too sharp to be human pressing into the skin of Stiles’ shoulder.

“I wanted to come with your dick down my throat,” Stiles whines honestly. “I wanted to come choked on your dick. It’s so beautiful. So big and thick, uncut, it’s how I imagined it. Can’t wait to get you in my mouth, sucking you. Maybe fucking you on my fingers at the same ti...”

With a broken whimper Derek orgasms on a shudder cutting him off, painting Stiles’ stomach and dick liberally with his hot come.

Stiles whoops triumphantly as Derek stops jerking them and he rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder to get his breath back. 

“Didn’t come first. Never pictured _that_ ,” Stiles grins triumphantly at him.

He knows. He knows so much better than to challenge Derek.

Derek pulls pack and he glares at him, dropping to his knees, staring at Stiles’ dick like its offended him. It twitches under his gaze and Derek licks his lips.

Stiles thumbs over his lower lip and tugs it down.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Stiles tells him honestly.

“Have you seen yourself?” Derek grumbles. 

He licks a long stripe up the underside of Stiles cock.

“Turn around,” Derek demands.

And oh, isn’t that just the hottest thing Stiles has ever heard.

“Oh my god yes please,” Stiles places his hands on the wall.

Like he has a hundred times this weekend, he feels Derek’s eyes on him and it makes his blood sing. His skin is thrumming with the need to be touched by him.

Derek stays on his knees and he grips one of his cheeks in either hand and parts him, just holding him open.

Stiles fights the urge not to squirm at being so exposed but he trusts Derek with everything he’s got, he’s never wanted anything more. 

He drops his forehead onto his forearm leaning more into the wall for support. He thinks he’s going to need it.

Derek licking a broad, rough stripe over his hole makes him cry out and he thinks he’s going to get a second to get used to the feeling, but Derek comes back for more immediately.

Derek eats him like he does everything, furiously and intensely and Stiles is nearly sobbing with an overload of sensation from Derek’s stubble on his sensitive skin and Derek’s spit dripping down the backs of his thighs and balls. 

By the time Derek presses a thick finger inside him alongside his probing tongue, Stiles is begging.

“Another. Fuck Der, another,” Stiles demands shamelessly.

Derek complies, spitting directly on his open hole before coming back with two fingers this time, stretching him further.

“You’re so damned tight,” Derek groans.

“Yeah well. It’s been a while,” Stiles comments, teeth grit.

“How long?” Derek demands.

“Er... never? With a guy...” Stiles whimpers as Derek removes his fingers.

Derek stands and presses himself to Stiles back, stoking his sides.

“Are you being serious?” Derek groans right into his ear.

Derek rubs his cock, which is hard again, praise be werewolf stamina up Stiles’ wet crack and the head catches on his hole making them both groan.

“Yes? I just didn’t see the point. None of them were...” Stiles whines as Derek reaches around and takes his dick in his hand.

“None of them were what?” Derek snarls and bites his shoulder lightly, dick thrusting lightly against his wet hole. 

His dick is not going to fit, not yet, but Stiles wants it so bad and his hole clenches against Derek.

“None of them were you,” Stiles whimpers.

Derek flips him around at that and kisses him again, eyes tender. Derek jerks him slow and firm now and Stiles feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t come.

Derek presses his teeth into Stiles’ lower lip, still working his dick with his hand.

“Come Stiles. Come. Just for me,” Derek breathes into his mouth and Stiles, his obedient self, does.

He looks down to watch as his dick spills, coming all over Derek’s hand and his stomach, white catching in the dark hairs there and Derek works him through it until he goes limp against him.

Derek smiles and kisses him gently, not letting him go.

“Well that was spectacular,” Stiles comments, running his hand through Derek’s hair.

Derek hums happily.

“Save your review. We’re not done,” Derek says, voice low.

“Oh hell. Are you going to kill me with sex? Because yes, yes please, take my money good sir, I am here for it,” Stiles laughs and he makes toward the bathroom, kicking his shorts off his ankles.

“Where are you going?” Derek growls.

“Ooh bossy wolf. I was going to get in the shower, I don’t want to get the sheets all dirty,” Stiles says.

“You smell good though. Like me,” Dereks frowning.

“Oh I see what this is. You like me all filthy,” Stiles dips a finger into the come on his stomach, a mix of Derek’s and his own.

He pops it into his mouth and felates his finger, baiting him.

Derek’s fangs drop and he crouches as if he’s going to pounce on him.

“Oh shit,” Stiles giggles, rushing around the other side of the bed.

Derek tackles him and laughing they go down into the pillows. 

Derek peppers playful and tickling kisses all down his torso and it takes a turn back to hotter than hell when Derek proceeds to clean every inch of him with his tongue.

Stiles gets a hand in his hair when Derek rolls his balls in his mouth. Stiles’ dick is rock hard again, standing straight up against his stomach.

Derek looks like he’s about to blow him but Stiles has been desperate to suck Derek off since the minute he’d seen it done in the great gay porn awakening he went through at sixteen. 

All Derek Hale’s fault, of course.

So instead, he pulls a protesting Derek up his body until Derek’s thick thighs are bracketing his head and his dick is in line with Stiles’ face.

“Oh my god. You’re huge. You’re so fucking thick,” Stiles groans and he flicks his tongue out to taste the tip.

Derek grunts and he reaches out to grab the headboard with both hands, angling his dick down toward Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles trails his hands down Derek’s ass cheeks as he opens his mouth wide.

Derek’s muscled torso is on display like this and Stiles notices he’s got a knuckle white grip on the wood. It creaks ominously when Stiles takes him in his mouth.

Derek doesn’t move, he just lets Stiles suck and lick on his cock until he’s nudging further into his mouth, edging him deeper.

Stiles presses his fingers hard into the flesh on Derek’s ass and Derek bucks forward, making Stiles’ eyes water.

He looks down apologetically and Stiles swallows around his dick and nods, hoping Derek will get it, giving him another little push for good measure.

Derek’s eyes go dark and he starts thrusting in an out of Stiles’ mouth, slowly at first but he’s soon cupping the back of Stiles’ head and angling his mouth up to give him better access.

Stiles’ own dick protests at being forgotten and it drags on the sheets, making him whimper around Derek’s dick. He reaches down with one hand and starts fisting his own dick and he works it slowly.

When Derek’s cock hits the back of his throat, Stiles fights the urge to gag and just keeps him there, using his hands to push him deeper. Derek throws his head back and he groans gutturally, like he’s dying.

“So perfect,” Derek grunts and keeps fucking into him, ever so small movements and Stiles takes it all, mouth feeling stretched and used in the best kind of way.

“Fuck you’re so good at that,” Derek chokes. “Gonna come.”

Stiles speeds up his own strokes, he’s on the edge again anyway and he swallows when he comes on a moan, and the vibration is what sends Derek over the edge.

Derek frantically goes to pull out but Stiles holds him in place and ghosts his free hand down Dereks crack and presses a come covered finger at his hole, slipping inside.

Derek comes instantly, spilling hot right down his fluttering throat and Stiles fights to swallow, nostrils flaring for breath.

Stiles sucks him dry, working every bit of come out of him and fucking him on a finger until Derek starts to go limp in his mouth and even then, for good measure he runs his tongue under his foreskin just to watch Derek’s face.

Derek collapses onto his back with an arm over his face and Stiles sucks in a breath and wipes at his mouth, laying happily next to him.

Derek entwines their hands together and Stiles rolls onto his side to face him, grin on his face.

“Wow,” Stiles chuckles and his voice sounds hoarse, used, even to his own ears.

“Yeah,” Derek says, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Derek feels blindly on the bedside and finds a bottle of water that Stiles had left there earlier. 

Derek sits up after a minute and he offers it to him first and Stiles mirrors him, legs crossed and takes the bottle.

He sinks half and hands it back to Derek, wiping his mouth in the process.

They sit facing each other, holding hands, totally naked and comfortable and the weirdest thing, is it’s not even a little bit weird.

“Why isn’t this weird?” Stiles voices.

“I was just thinking that,” Derek cocks his head and gives him a shy smile. “I really wish I’d said something to you back then. I wish I hadn’t left.”

“I kind of always figured we’d bang eventually and then you’d do your usual, run off and not talk to me deal, while you tried to bury your feelings,” Stiles grins at him. “You and I Derek Hale, we are inevitable. You’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen are you?”

“I think it’s a bit too late to bury my feelings, don’t you?” Derek offers, thumb stroking over Stiles’ knuckles.

“I don’t know... are you silently freaking out because I told you I was in love with you?” Stiles asks, no filter as usual.

Derek smiles shyly at him.

“I thought it was pretty obvious I felt the same way,” he shrugs and Stiles can’t help his pleased smile.

“Well it’s not that obvious. Sexy times does not equate to romantic feelings,” Stiles chuckles.

Derek narrows his eyes at him.

“Stiles Stilinski... are you fishing?” Derek cocks his head, smile amused.

“No! Well maybe. It’s nice to know I’m not on my own in this,” Stiles hums thoughtfully.

Derek moves fast and Stiles finds himself on his back with an oomph, Derek’s weight covering him.

Derek kisses him softly and looks him in the eye.

“My whole life has been shades of grey and black Stiles, that’s the only way how I can describe how I feel about you. Filled up with darkness and ash. How I see you, how I’ve always seen you is you’re _vivid_. You’re the brightest of colours, oranges and reds. I’m drawn to you. I tried to ignore it, especially when we were younger but you _can’t_ be ignored,” Derek whispers and Stiles doesn’t need to be a Werewolf to know that he is telling the truth. “I’m too selfish to deny you anymore.”

“Fuck me, that was poetic,” Stiles flushes and he swipes at his face as he pretends his eyes aren’t watering.

“I love you Stiles,” Derek kisses him softly, a quick peck this time. “But you’re still a total pain in the ass.”

Derek gets off him and heads for the shower, smacking his ass he gets up.

“I can be a pain in _your_ ass if you’re into that?” Stiles calls after him.

“Ok. Come in here then,” Derek calls back and Stiles hears the water start up.

He practically runs to the shower. Despite their teasing, they just get clean in there, taking ages about it and wiping each other down. Stiles probably has never been so clean in his entire life, he’s showered so much since being here.

Stiles is in a constant low level state of arousal but it’s a bit soon to get hard again after just coming twice and Derek seems to be the same, dick half hard. Neither of them appear to be in a rush to do anything about it.

Derek just touches him gently all over, soaps his hair and his back and Stiles returns the favour using a shower sponge to get to know Derek’s body, fingers dancing over his tattoo and arms.

Derek wraps him in a fluffy towel and they kiss until they get back to bed, wet towels discarded on the floor. 

Derek disappears out of the room for a minute and he comes back with a pair of boxers in his hands, leaving Stiles to pull back the sheets properly for them and arrange the pillows.

Derek doesn’t look pleased when he comes back in the room, his own boxers already on and the tips of his ears are red.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles sits up, concerned.

“Cora just caught me doing a naked landing dash from your room to mine,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles snorts.

“Come on, she’s seen you naked before right? When you change into a wolf and back,” Stiles chuckles.

“I know but I felt a lot more guilty about it considering my dick had just been in your mouth," Derek hisses but he gets gets back into bed regardless, handing Stiles the extra underwear.

Stiles wriggles about and he yanks them up his legs. Derek tugs him toward him and flicks the lamp off. He manoeuvres them so Stiles' back is to his front and he throws a heavy leg over him.

"I'll never get to sleep like this," Stiles grumbles as Derek’s breaths even out, tickling the hair on the back of his neck. “I’m not even tired.”

“Mmm hmm," Derek says, snuggling even closer into him.

Stiles is letting out tiny little snores within a minute.

—————

Stiles wakes because his dick informs him that he's missing out on something spectacular.

The sun is already up and casting an orange hue on everything through the light curtains. Stiles moans and he wriggles forward, pressing his dick into... his eyes shoot open. Into _Derek._

Stiles’ arm is trapped underneath him and the rise and fall of Derek’s back suggests he’s still asleep. They’ve shifted around in the night. He’s now spooning Derek. Derek is the little spoon.

His hard dick is currently nestled into Derek Hale’s firm, boxer clad ass. He rocks gently, unable to stop himself and Derek lets out a pleased grumble as he wakes slowly.

Stiles uses his pinned arm to stroke down Derek’s stomach and he run his fingers through his happy trail, playing with the coarse hair there. He bites on Derek’s shoulder and he’s rewarded as Derek arches back into him with a groan.

He grabs Derek by the hip and he pulls him back onto him, rubbing his dick off on his firm ass.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, voice heavy with sleep. “Put your dick me.”

Stiles doesn’t need to be asked twice. 

He frantically yanks down the back of Derek’s boxers leaving Derek’s dick trapped at the front. He fumbles with his own, shoving them part way down his thighs.

He knows they’ve got all the time in the world for this, but he feels out of his head with desperation. He always does around Derek though, it seems his knack for making Stiles go out of his mind when they argue transfers neatly to the bedroom.

Derek’s obviously feeling of a similar disposition because he leans forward and yanks the bedside drawer open and he produces a tube of half used lube triumphantly.

“That’s not mine,” Stiles licks a stripe up the back of Derek’s neck as he continues to rock dryly against him, dick sliding up his crack.

“I put it there last night,” Derek groans, voice heavy with sleep.

Stiles’ dick pulses precome and he smears it on Derek’s ass cheek.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that,” Stiles complains, but he takes the lube off him, popping the cap as he goes and he wriggles his hand out from under Derek.

He pulls back enough to use one hand to spread him open and the other to press a lubed finger into him.

Derek grunts at the intrusion but he pushes back eagerly and Stiles works him open torturously slowly until Derek’s riding back onto three of his fingers.

“Can I... are you... fuck, look at you,” Stiles says awed, watching Derek take his fingers, pretty hole clenched eagerly around him as he finger fucks him.

Derek rolls onto his stomach and Stiles drags Derek’s boxers off his legs before kicking off his own. He kneels between Derek’s thighs and grips him exposing his hole, wanting to see all of him.

Derek braces his head on his forearms and spreads his legs wider, inviting him.

Stiles touches his finger stretched hole again, and he works three back into him, checking how loose he is.

“Stiles please,” Derek begs.

He holds Derek open and he spits onto his hand, running it up his dick to get it wet. He nudges his tip against Derek’s hole and he groans as Derek clenches against him.

“Jesus,” Stiles breathes. “I feel like I could come now, I don’t think this is going to last five seconds.” 

“We can do it again. Come on,” Derek demands so Stiles presses into him, Derek letting him in inch by torturous inch.

Derek’s hole flutters around him the whole way, clenching and relaxing as Stiles’ dick fights for space in his tight, perfect body.

Stiles counts to twenty when he’s fully seated, stoking Derek’s sides and pressing kisses to his back.

He expects Derek to rush him but he’s making these content little noises underneath him and Stiles knows he could do this forever. 

When he’s sure he’s not going to blow straight away, he places his hands on the mattress either side of Derek’s head and he snaps his hips into him.

Derek gives a surprised cry and Stiles smothers a laugh into the back of his neck.

Sorry Cora.

He does it again. And again. He makes it his personal mission to fuck Derek through the mattress, watching with satisfaction as Derek shreds the sheets with the tips of his claws.

Stiles drops down onto him, shoving one of Derek’s legs out to the side with his knee so he can get even closer. He keeps his pace fast, he’s got no choice because he feels so frantic but it’s deeper now and Derek starts groaning and saying his name like a prayer.

“Stiles... Stiles... oh my god, Stiles,” Derek growls and he buries his face in the sheets. Stiles can see the tips of his ears lengthen and Derek tries to burrow under a pillow.

“Don’t hide. Derek fuck, please don’t hide,” Stiles pounds into him, the sound of flesh meeting flesh loud in the quiet morning air. “Come on Der. Shift. Show me. Show me what I’m doing to you.” 

With a snarl, Derek pushes up onto his knees and he pushes Stiles onto his back.

He straddles Stiles’ hips and grips his dick as he sits back down onto him, hands carefully balanced on Stiles’ chest as he begins to rock back on his cock.

Stiles stares up at him with awe, noticing his eyes are glowing red and his teeth too long to be human.

Stiles grabs him by the hips to help drag him back and forth on his cock and he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into him for all he’s worth, satisfied when Derek leans back and grips Stiles’ thighs instead, taking what he’s giving him.

Derek’s heavy dick is slapping against his stomach, so Stiles reaches for him with one hand and grips him firmly. 

Derek comes hard on a snarl, eyes on Stiles and his come hits Stiles in the chin, hole gripping down on Stiles’ dick mercilessly.

Stiles has no choice but to follow him over the edge. Derek’s tight ass is milking him for all it’s worth and he buries himself deep on a final thrust up, sitting up to pull Derek against him and he comes deep inside him, painting his insides, his mouth on Derek’s.

They don’t move for long moments, Stiles stroking Derek’s back and hair and Derek’s face stays buried in his neck, inhaling against his skin.

Derek pulls back eventually and kisses him soundly and he wriggles in his lap. 

Stiles brings his hands down to touch where they’re still joined.

Derek grumbles as Stiles feels where he’s stretched around Stiles’ softening cock. Stiles can feel his come starting to leak out around his dick. He presses a finger back inside where Derek’s open, alongside his softening dick, to push it back into him and Derek, oversensitive, nips his lower lip, hard in retaliation.

Stiles grins at him.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one into marking and claiming you,” Derek mumbles but he doesn’t look even a little bit unhappy. He looks fucked out, hair a mess and Stiles did that.

“You’re mine,” Stiles says simply.

“Yeah. And You’re mine too,” Derek smiles at him.

“And _I_ need some fucking therapy and a good nights sleep,” Cora yells from the other side of the door.

———————  
Two weeks later  
———————

Stiles looks around his new office space in Derek’s loft building back in Beacon Hills and for the first time in a long time, he feels like everything’s right in the world.

Danny had said yes to being on the team full time, with a salary request of nearly double what Stiles had initially offered. He’s worth every penny though. 

Parrish had agreed to support them on a part time basis and as predicted, Scott and Malia had wanted nothing to do with it.

But Scott had been by the offices at least five times already in the last week, as they’d been setting up and getting the place, so Stiles suspects it’s more Malia that wants nothing to do with it and Scott’s maybe going to come around. But he’s not getting in the middle of that one.

Surprisingly, Chris Argent had showed up at his dad’s house a few days previous and actually asked outright if he could be part of the team. Stiles had accepted him immediately, you can’t find experience like Chris Argent’s just anywhere.

“Hey kiddo,” The Sheriff lets himself into the room, interrupting his thoughts.

“Dad,” Stiles greets him, giving him a huge hug and patting him on the back.

“How’s it going?” His dad says glancing around.

“Nearly done. Derek almost finished the painting earlier, he’s gone for a lie down upstairs, he’s bushwhacked,” Stiles smiles.

“Bushwhacked? Is that a weird sex term? Because I have to say son, I do not need to know,” John frowns.

“No! Ew. Dad. Derek doesn’t even have a bush... do you know what? The look on your face is suggesting I should stop talking,” Stiles makes finger guns and winks at him.

“That would be great.” John says dryly.

“Seriously though. I’m so happy to be back. I had a call with my boss earlier and she’s probably going to come see the place for herself next week,” Stiles says.

“Is that the one you introduced me to on skype that time? The stunning lady, gorgeous green eyes? Valerie...” John asks, face going wistful.

“Oh my god, gross. Dad. No. You are not going out with my boss. She doesn’t even know who you are, she keeps getting your name wrong. She signed my Christmas card last year to Stiles and Noah Stilinski. You don’t want to go there,” Stiles grimaces.

“Why not? Malia’s been helping me get on some dating websites but I just can’t find anyone with any depth you know. Maybe I should wait though, Danny said he’ll sign me up to something called Grindr at dinner this weekend, apparently the people on there are much more interesting, or so he says,” The Sheriff shrugs.

Stiles chokes on his own spit until his dad whacks him on the back.

“No! Dad no. I’m going to kill Danny. Grindr is not for you. Trust me on that one,” Stiles wipes his eyes. “It’s for the gays dad.”

His dad puffs his chest out. Since Stiles came out to him, his dad prides himself on celebrating and supporting all sexualities. 

Since Stiles explained it to him, bless his heart, he tends to get protective when people assume things about other people’s sexuality.

“I could be gay,” his dad huffs defensively. “You don’t know. You shouldn’t assume you know.”

Stiles cocks his head at him thoughtfully.

“Not dressed like that you’re not,” Stiles winks at him.

“Oh! Touché son...” His dad smiles back. “Hey kiddo, it’s really good to have you back you know. You and Derek. I can’t believe you’ve actually started this up. I’m so proud of you. My son. S.C.A.R.E.D.D.”

“I think I need to change that name,” Stiles grumbles, but he pats his dad on the shoulder anyway.

—————

Derek finds him alone in the office space a few hours later, finishing off the last of the painting on the largest wall.

“Good nap my sugar plum?” Stiles makes grabby hands and he pouts until Derek leans in and kisses him.

Derek sits down in a recently assembled desk chair. It’s huge. Stiles sprung for the good orthopaedic models on Lydia’s insistence.

“I said I’d finish it off when I came down, you’ve got more paint on you than on the wall,” Derek points at him.

Stiles shrugs.

“Well someone abandoned me for a Nanna nap,” Stiles accuses.

“Well _someone_ woke me up by putting their dick in my mouth _twice_ last night. I didn’t get much sleep after that,” Derek cocks his eyebrows at him. “Sorry but our bed was calling to me.”

“Well excuse me, but you sleep with your pretty mouth open, the visual was too much for me,” Stiles says unashamedly. “Plus, you’re the one who insisted on moving back in upstairs, the temptation for you to nap is obviously too much for you. You’re a nap addict Derek Hale.”

“Would have been better if you’d come up with me,” Derek pouts and his eyes darken.

“Then we wouldn’t have got anything at all done today,” Stiles tells him seriously.

Stiles puts down his roller and he unpacks a box. It has an actual plug in phone in it for the landline. He plugs it into the wall and pats it lovingly.

“It’s looking awesome in here,” Stiles says ducking his head. “Thank you... for coming back with me. For all of this.” 

Derek’s expression goes soft and he pulls Stiles over and he yanks him into his lap, making Stiles straddle him around the chair. Stiles’ long legs touch the floor, bracketing Derek’s hips.

Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ thighs and he strokes them up and down.

“Thank _you_. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. These last couple of weeks have been... well you know. You were there too.” Derek smiles shyly at him.

“I know. I’m really into you Hale,” Stiles grins and kisses him.

“I’d like to be really into you,” Derek says and he rolls his hips upwards, hard cock pressing into Stiles’ ass.

“Oh Derek. I’m so proud of you for that joke, you don’t even know,” Stiles rolls his ass back down to meet him and he licks into his mouth.

They’re dry humping each other like teenagers within seconds.

“Fuck, Der is the door locked?” Stiles asks fumbling with his belt and standing up a little to pull his jeans down his thighs.

Derek nods and he doesn’t let him go far, but gets a hand between them to roughly shove his own sweatpants down his legs. When Stiles sits back down, his bare ass is in line with Derek’s hard cock, trousers just giving them enough space to be skin to skin.

Derek’s hands go around him to finger at his hole and Stiles thumps his head onto Derek’s shoulder on a moan. Derek pushes on the base of the small plug that Stiles has been wearing.

“This...” Derek growls tugging on the base of it as Stiles squirms in his lap, face going red. “This was the best and worst present I’ve ever been given. I want to fuck you constantly. You smell like sex _all_ the time.” 

“Well I had to level the playing field, you look sexy doing anything, you’re horrible to be around. You were eating broccoli yesterday and I wanted to bang you. It’s not right Derek,” Stiles scolds.

Derek pulls the plug out slowly and he lines his dick up instead.

“You still wet enough from last night?” Derek growls.

“Try me,” Stiles says and he sinks down slowly, teeth set in his lip, as Derek holds him open.

He’s tight, so tight that Derek sniffs his neck in case he’s in pain but he gets nothing but the sweet heady scent of Stiles’ arousal and their mixed come.

“Scott doesn’t like it either by the way, I think he knows. He looked at me so gone off yesterday and he kept staring at my ass,” Stiles groans.

“Please don’t talk about Scott when my dick is in you,” Derek grunts as he bottoms out and Stiles begins to roll his hips back and forth.

“I think he told Danny, because he kept staring at me too then,” Stiles comments lightly, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Derek growls and his eyes flash red and he pulls out of him, manhandling Stiles until he’s bent over a desk, trousers trapped at his ankles. 

Derek shoves his own sweats down further and he stands on Stiles’ trapped jeans keeping him in place and pushes his cock back into him, fucking him deep and pushing him down into the wood of the desk.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Stiles groans, palms flat on the desk.

Derek cups the back of his head and he holds him gently, so his cheek is pressed into the cold wood.

“Ok?” Derek sounds like he’s barely in control, but Stiles knows he’s really the one calling the shots here. He always is with Derek.

“Yes Der. Show me I’m yours,” Stiles bites his lip.

Derek pulls out and slams into him so hard that the desk rocks. Stiles dick leaks precome and he whimpers.

“More,” Stiles demands. “Don’t stop Der.”

So Derek doesn’t. He pounds him relentlessly into the desk, stopping only to let Stiles turn his head the other way and he keeps a gentle, grounding grip on the back of his neck, thumb soothing over his skin where he’s gripping him lightly.

“Ngghh. Der, gonna come,” Stiles’ dick is trapped against the desk but it makes no difference, the feel of Derek’s bare cock catching on his hole as he slams in and out of him is enough.

He comes untouched messily onto the wood and Derek follows him seconds later, pulling out and coming right onto Stiles’ fucked open hole, watching his come dripping down his crack.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles unsticks himself to the desk. “Joseph, Mary and baby Bob that was good.”

Derek turns him around and kisses him tenderly, cleaning them both up with his t-shirt.

“I think the biggest eye opener for me is how religious you seem to have become lately,” Derek comments.

“Shut up dooshbag,” Stiles rolls his eyes at him and he pulls his jeans up. “Oh my god, look what you made me do to Danny’s desk. That’s not coming out, he’s going to kill me!” 

Derek knows he looks smug, but he can’t bring himself to care and he picks up a roller instead, pocketing the discarded plug.

They both jump when the newly set up phone gives a shrill ring.

“Motherfucker,” Stiles swears and he picks it up, dropping it once. He gets a grip on it. “You’ve reached S.C.A.R.E.D.D. What can we do for you?”

Derek cocks his head to hear the person on the other line.

“Hey man. I was told you might have some advice for me, this professor chick that teaches my cousin gave me this number. This is going to sound so batshit crazy man, but me and my friend were walking home from a campus party the other night and I went through the woods because we know this shortcut. Anyways, there was this thing up in the trees man, all growling and snarly, it came out of nowhere and I thought we’d just had one too many mushrooms but then the next day...”

Derek, grinning, begins to paint? He grabs Stiles a notepad and pen when he motions frantically for it.

 _Love you._ Stiles mouths at him while taking notes and talking animatedly down the phone, the orange sunset hitting him through the blinds in just the right way that it makes the brown in his eyes dance with gold. 

Derek mouths it back to him and he rolls his eyes at the same time. Stiles ducks his chin, grinning broadly.

Stiles knows the look on his own face is nothing less than adoring. Despite being bushwhacked, standing there in his office, looking at Derek, Stiles Stilinski is very _awake_. 

Well, awake would actually be the second understatement of the century.

Stiles runs through his old hyperbole exercise in his head as he hangs up the phone, a notepad clutched in his hand with their first official case on.

_Awake. Bustling. Hopeful. Vital. Stimulated. Aroused. Ha. Aroused._

With Derek there, he feels like all of sudden the possibilities of his life are endless and he knows what Derek meant by everything was dull without him. 

Because without Derek, he felt like he was moving through life like his legs were stuck in jello, everything slow, tedious and so very boring. 

And now... there’s no hyperbole in the world to describe just how alive he feels.

With a wide grin he waves the paper in the air at Derek.

“Hey Sourwolf... you are _never_ going to guess what this kid saw...”

—————

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it. The idea just nagged at me and I had to write it up.
> 
> It all ended a bit romantic this one, I kept seeing _all_ the colours as Derek would say, as I thought it out.
> 
> Your support means everything to me, you’re amazing for still being here with me. 
> 
> Long live Sterek my dudes! ❤️


End file.
